Teen Idle
by nevergone4ever
Summary: "And I volunteer. To prove my worth, to prove them all wrong. To prove that I'm not stupid. That I'm more than a silly kid who giggles at the most dire of things. I volunteer to prove that I am the ultimate idle teen. Ironic, isn't it?" The 100th Games commence!
1. Guilty Scars of the Troubled

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_**I was just a kid and you could not forgive me 'cause it's harder.  
><strong>__**I was just a kid and all I really wanted was my father.**_

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><p><strong>Petra Cameron, 15, District Ten Citizen<strong>

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><p>"Grandfather!"<p>

The word comes easily to my lips as I rush over to the weathered old man, his wrinkled face conveying gratefulness as I help him off the ground. "Thank you, Petra," he croaks out in that familiar tone I've learned to adore. "Gardening's not the nicest job, but somebody's got to do it."

"Anything," I say eagerly, nodding.

His joints crackle as he eases himself off of the grassy slope, and once he's up, he coughs and adjusts his spectacles. "Shall we go inside, then? Your mother's probably cooking up some fried chicken, maybe some corn."

Together we walk inside our meager house, where the luscious scents of supper wrap around me. I allow my senses to take over, closing my eyes and inhaling deeply. Not just fried chicken and corn, but a beef brisket, and fresh butter, and even cranberry sauce. It's a regular feast!

Mother moves to the side, her long brown skirt swinging as she allows Grandfather to move into the living room. "President Violette is going to announce the Quell in just a couple minutes," she says in a low tone so my younger siblings don't hear. "Everybody's gathered in the living room to watch it on television, but we have a bit of time. Currently, they're just having a quick interview with some victor from District One. Come, help me set the table."

I glance at the television, its bright screen illuminating the dark room. The glassy eyes of my younger sisters, Amelia and Laurel, are wide as they observe the people on screen. The baby, Jonas, lies sleeping in the arms of my grandmother. My father's thumbs are twiddling nervously as he stares blankly at the screen. Everybody's nervous, as am I.

Tesserae hasn't been brought up too many times around this household, but everyone knows that I take it. Not too much, about three or four a year, but that's just a couple extra slips in my name. Amelia the meek would never dream of it, where Laurel's a bit more daring. I'm sure that she's taken out at least one as well, so this year, at just twelve, she'll have her name in there two times at the least.

This year is a Quell, which could either be good news or bad for our family. Each time a Quarter Quell has been announced, our family has luckily been skipped over. We've never had an ancestor to go into the Games, and each night when I say my prayers, I can only pray that this year will be similar.

But it's an impending cloud over our heads nonetheless.

"She's talking!" shrieks Laurel, her already wide mouth stretching further.

"Get in here!" calls Amelia, her voice strained but still collected and calm.

I fight the funny feeling in my stomach as I make my way to the loveseat, taking a seat next to my father and Amelia and hoping, praying for good news.

"… _will be a year to remember, indeed_." The blurred, faded image of President Violette smiles in a funny sort of way, like she's uncomfortable. "And because of the twenty-fifth anniversary of the failed rebellion, I've decided to do something a bit different this year."

_No, really,_ I berate her silently. _It's a Quarter Quell, so why shouldn't everything be the same as last year?_

"This Quarter Quell is not to be selected at random," President Violette calls airily, waving her hand, festooned in a couple of simple golden rings. "I've created it myself, and special orders are to be made because of it." A faint smile drifts across her thin lips. "As you know, I am not the monster that my father was."

"And yet she allows these wretched Games to continue!" hisses my father, clenching his fists. "If she really cared about the districts, she'd let us go free, and leave our children alone!"

"Kaden," my mother soothes him with a gentle touch. "She says that they are a way for her to maintain control. We cannot help it. We _can't_."

My father's lips pucker for a moment, quivering in aftermath of his outburst. With an angry sigh, he collapses back onto the cushions.

President Violette's smoothing back a flyaway strand of hair with her long, pale fingers. "On the eve of the one-hundredth anniversary of the Hunger Games, and on the twenty-fifth anniversary of the failed uprising, a Quarter Quell is in order."

Knowing that the announcement comes next, my mother hugs Laurel to her chest tightly. Laurel squirms free, struggling to get a good glimpse at the small television.

President Violette raises her head, looking blank and almost bored. "On the eve of this Quarter Quell, a twist is to be incorporated."

"Spit it out already!" shouts my father, startling me.

"Kaden!" My mother glares at him, her gaze soon after whipping back to the television.

My throat is dry as the small woman on screen calls out in that melodic, serene tone of hers, "As a reminder to the districts that the Capitol rewards those closest in ties to them, the pool of tributes shall be Reaped from only districts One, Two, Four, and Nine."

_As a reminder to the districts that the Capitol rewards those closest in ties to them, the pool of tributes shall be Reaped from only districts One, Two, Four, and Nine._

_As a reminder to the districts that the Capitol rewards those closest in ties to them, the pool of tributes shall be Reaped from only districts One, Two, Four, and Nine._

_As a reminder to the districts that the Capitol rewards those closest in ties to them, the pool of tributes shall be Reaped from only districts One, Two, Four, and Nine._

It sinks in.

"M-M-Mother!" I scream, leaping up from my spot and trembling with joy. "We-We're _spared_!"

"We're spared!" shrieks Laurel and Amelia in close unison, their faces splitting into beams of pure joy and glee. "We're spared!"

I turn to my father, strands of wavy dark hair getting caught in my outstretched mouth. Fishing them free with my fingers, I assess his reaction. It's so dark I almost miss the crystalline tears that stream down his ruddy cheeks, bumping over his beard stubble and leaving streaks of saltiness. But I see them.

"Our children are safe for another year." His voice is shaky but relieved. "A-Amarin, our kids! They're secure, free!"

We're all swept up into hugs, arms wrapping around each other. I'm kissed on the cheeks multiple times, and in the corner, even Baby Jonas knows to gurgle in delight. And, with a couple of joyous tears marring my vision as I look over my grandfather's shoulder, I manage to make out President Violette on the screen. But instead of smirking quietly like I'd expected, she looks downright depressed.

And I swear she's looking directly at the camera, her piercing eyes never leaving mine. I'm snared in her gaze, unable to look anywhere but her. Even when my grandfather departs to hug somebody else and Laurel and my mother arrive, grinning like idiots, I can't stop staring at the television screen.

I'd be a _fool_ not to notice the purplish bruises, barely concealed by makeup, that stretch under the president's eyes, the lines at the corners of her thin pink lips.

"But this is not just any usual Reaping," she announces, her voice thin. "For each gender, instead of just one, there shall be three selected. Therefore, from each district, six tributes total shall be Reaped, in divisions."

I detach myself from Laurel and my mother and move closer to the television, as if enchanted.

"One division will be twelve, thirteen, and fourteen year olds." The president nods, her eyelids nearly shut as she examines the slip of paper. "That shall be Division One. For Division Two, there will be fifteen and sixteen year olds, and for Division Three, seventeen and eighteen year olds. Those who wish to volunteer are allowed to only in their allotted division."

"Interesting," I murmur to myself, the cogs of my mind whirling as my father drapes me in a hug. Divisions, she says? Who came up with that strange idea?

But tonight, it doesn't matter. Who am I to care about this woman, who throws twenty-four innocent children into an arena every year, where nearly all of them will die? Tonight, there will be a feast, dancing, maybe even a bit of wine if my mother can spare it.

Tonight, we will rejoice.

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><p><strong>AN: Guilty by Marina and the Diamonds.**

**You know the drill, guys. Form's on my profile, no recycled or resubmitted tributes, no submissions through reviews, and please, please review if you do get a tribute in. But otherwise, well, yeah! I hope you enjoy.**

**Submissions opened two days early because I'm cool like that ;3 They close on January 30th. Should give you guys enough time to think of a cool tribute, write him (or her) up, and send 'er in!**

**Dropping a review on the prologue with your general thoughts is always nice. :)**

**- nevergone4ever**


	2. Scars of the Guilty Mind

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_**Disregarded, overlooked, sinking lower and lower.**_

_**The shame erased my name and took my face and made it like the others.**_

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><p><strong>Lincoln Albea, 17, District One Mentor<strong>

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><p>"Linc?"<p>

Pelly's cautious voice pierces through the silent emptiness of my living room. I glance over to him, hands tightly wrapped around my warm mug of tea. "Yeah?" My voice cracks.

He offers me a sheepish smile, shuffling over in his baby blue pajamas and softly plopping down at the end of the sofa. His bold black glasses are crooked and askew on his nose. "Couldn't sleep," he mutters.

"Tough luck." I shake my head slightly. "Nervous for your first year of mentoring, then?"

"Yeah," he admits. His bleary eyes gaze out onto the glass coffee table. "With the Quell twist and all… I mean, there's more tributes to mentor."

"Don't worry about that." I shake that off with a dismissive wave of my hand. "I'm sure that Sheen, Teal, and Domika will pick up the extra tribute. You'll only have to worry with one, and if that's too much for you, one of us could mentor him or her."

"What do you know?" Pelly retorts quickly. "It's only your second year as a mentor, too!"

If I were Sheen, who's gentle and bumbling but firm, I'd chide him softly for lashing out. If I were Teal, who really is kind of stupid and cocky, I'd guffaw and slap his shoulder. If I were Domika, who's kind and good-hearted yet menacing, I'd glare till he apologized.

But no, I have to be an idiot and reply by smacking him across the face. Hard.

I hate being like this, so headstrong and impulsive.

Pelly squeaks out, his glasses toppling to the ground and a reddish mark rapidly appearing across his face. "What was that for?" he spits out, quickly collecting his dignity from his former squeaky self.

"Have respect for your elders, jerk."

"You're only two years older than me, idiot!"

We stare at each other for a long moment, me scowling and crossing my arms, and him rubbing his cheek and staring at me with tears brimming in his eyes, yet fury scrawled clearly across his face.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too."

"I love you, Pelly."

"I love you too, Lincoln."

We embrace, and I feel the frail contours of his back, concealed in the thin blue pajamas. It's really a mystery how he even won his games, though they should be fresh in my mind. I mean, it was last year.

Ever since then, we've kind of been best friends. It's a love-hate relationship, really. We could never be more than that – oh, no, I only see him as a brother – but, not to sound cheesy or romantic or any sort of junk like that, but we were meant to be together as best friends. It was our destiny.

We click perfectly. We balance each other out, we know each others' strengths and weaknesses. I even remember when we were littler, perhaps in elementary school, seeing him glance at me and my too-tanned skin and overly puffy lips, and offering me a smile. I'm unorthodox looking, but that's the point, that's my niche.

That's partly why I volunteered, actually.

Even as a tiny twelve-year-old, I was sick of everything, the crap that people pull and the dramas that surround us in our daily world. I was tired of people. I wanted the world to go away. My parents? Who even knows who they are anymore! The few times that I was home and not sleeping over at a friends' house, my own parents were gawping at a blank television set, bottle in hand and room reeking of smoke.

They're too far gone. They failed in raising my littler sister. I'm not afraid to say it – she died. They tried to meld her into their world, and Sosha died. It was then, as a measly preteen, that I knew it was up to me to change my fate.

And even as a tiny twelve-year-old, I knew I was smart. I knew I had common sense and enough toughness and thick skin to stick it out.

So, when the Reaping day came, I'd pulled on a clean denim dress borrowed from a friend and sensible shoes, slipped my long brown hair into a giant ponytail, and marched down to the square.

And I volunteered, much to the shock and fury of my district. A tiny girl, taking the place of the much more experienced and elder girl, who was muscled and attractive and sure to become a victor? They thought I was so little, and idle, too. They'd never seen me in action. They didn't know my story.

I forgot some of what happened in that arena. But what I didn't forget were the emotions, things I like not to remember.

I vividly remember my token, though, a scrap of paper with a little poem of sorts that I had written down.

'_And I volunteer. To prove my worth, to prove them all wrong. To prove that I'm not stupid. That I'm more than a silly kid who giggles at the most dire of things. I volunteer to prove that I am the ultimate idle teen. Ironic, isn't it?'_

Pelly, surprisingly, was a similar story. He volunteered merely to escape his abusive brother. He wasn't looking to win. He was looking for an escape, and victory was merely a benefit.

He left his family behind, too.

That's what we're looking for this year, Pelly and me. We're looking for the toughest of the tough, those who aren't afraid to get their hands a little dirty in order to run from whatever demons that trail behind them.

Because everybody who volunteers, whether they know it or not, is leaving behind their troubles, the devils that plagued their everyday lives. And though the arena may offer a period of calm, there's always the storm that rages after the serenity.

And I hated that.

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><p><strong>AN: Scars by Colton Dixon.**

**Hey, guys, didn't expect to see me so early, did you? ;o Thought you'd have a couple more days? Well, yeah, you do, actually. You have bunches. At least, if I don't get some more amazing tributes.**

**Here's the current list with tributes whose slots are accepted FOR SURE. If your tribute is on it… well, congrats :D Just updated the list with every single tribute, expect the third prologue SOON!**

**I just want to tell you all that, even though it may not seem so, every tribute has a chance. Male or female, district X or district Y, twelve or eighteen, doesn't matter. I've had a twelve-year-old victor, gaha. You have a chance with whatever slot you submit to!**

**And, well, yeah, that's all there really is to say! So without further ado, the list!**

**And by the way, dropping a review is always appreciated… hint, hint ;)**

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><p><em><strong>District One – Luxuries<strong>_

Div. One Male – Ferric Gauven (_District-11 Olive_)

Div. One Female – Lolita Trancy (_Blue Eyes Archangel_)

Div. Two Male – Peridot Midas (_Sovereign2_)

Div. Two Female – Sabryn Sinclair (_Call Me Fin_)

Div. Three Male – Merchandise Leighton (_BamItsTyler_)

Div. Three Female – Imani Veneur (_jakey121_)

_**District Two – Masonry **_

Div. One Male – Conner DeBlanc (_RainEpelt_)

Div. One Female – Loren Faust (_SomeDays_)

Div. Two Male – Akio Kurama (_kopycat101_)

Div. Two Female – Briana Valleri (_LokiThisIsMadness_)

Div. Three Male – Saturninus Lynch (_felicitea_)

Div. Three Female – Lynden Avior (_the Knife Throwing Expert_)

_**District Four – Fishing **_

Div. One Male – Salton Matinee (_Axe Smelling God_)

Div. One Female – Adriana Aquilare (_SpaceAgeDino_)

Div. Two Male – Leander Pelion (_bobothebear_)

Div. Two Female – Eira Valliere (_komiking_)

Div. Three Male – Jaiden Castiel (_addicted-to-my-reflection_)

Div. Three Female – Amalie Traselle (_Cashmere67_)

_**District Nine – Grain**_

Div. One Male – Rhett Valdez (_Aspect of One_)

Div. One Female – Cheyenne Macrae (_Elim9_)

Div. Two Male – Zane Ackerman (_Jalen Kun_)

Div. Two Female – Imogen Khareen (_magikmajic_)

Div. Three Male – Spiridon Floros (_TitanMaddix_)

Div. Three Female – Deverra Lisett (_Sunlight Comes Creeping In_)


	3. The Troubled Mind's Guilty Scars

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_**It's for the kids who have no self-esteem. They've got no concept of reality.**_

_**Living their lives inside a fantasy, inside their troubled minds.**_

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><p><strong>Juliet Violette, 60, President of Panem<strong>

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><p>I set down the paper parcel.<p>

Who are these people, thinking that they can blackmail the most important woman in Panem? Me. Their president, the one who is not nearly as cruel or harsh as their former leader.

I'm strict. I'm crude. I'm blunt. But aside from all that, nothing.

They don't deserve a response.

And yet, they got one.

I sigh, flipping a lock of blond hair over my shoulder and turning to my crystalline mirror. My pale eyes find my reflection and they graze over my pallid, chalky face. Over the bruises that line my eyes, barely covered by layers and layers of ashy makeup.

Nothing can conceal the memories.

I'm an old woman. I'm slowly passing my prime. I don't want to admit it, but it's true. It's obvious to me, with every crick in my back and crack in my throat.

And whoever my blackmailers are, they surely can see it as well.

I stare blankly into the mirror at the reflection of a woman who has become a stranger even to myself.

Placing a hand upon the metallic mirror and feeling the iciness coursing through my skin, I gently fold another hand over it, my eyes never leaving my reflection.

Was I a fool to agree to this Quell?

Or if I disagreed, would the blackmailers have done much worse?

The very thought makes me tremble.

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><p><strong>AN: Troubled Minds by Marina and the Diamonds.**

**THE LBOG IS UP OWEHQDJKNVZX IM SO EXCITED?!**

**Okay, but in all seriousness, yes, I'm super excited for this story and the characters, oh, the tributes are going to be FAN-FRICKING-TASTIC. **

**So, well, yeah, you got a glimpse into what this Quell is about from the POV from the president, I tried not to make it super long mainly because I know by the second or third prologue people are dying to get at the tributes, so. **

**Here we go, yeah?**

**teenidlehungergames . blogspot . com**

**The link is also up on my profile, for those of you who are having trouble accessing it!**

**By the way, bobothebear is having a little SYOT, so for all of you who are cool, go check out Eternal Penance, maybe? ;3**

**Questions! :)**

**Thoughts on each tribute from the blog?**

**A chart of your favorites, neutrals, least favorites, etc.?**

**Who do you think is blackmailing the president?**


	4. Big Eyes

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_**Your world was burning, and I stood watching.**_

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><p><strong>Pelly Harrequin, District One, 15, Victor of the 99th Hunger Games<strong>

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><p>"Look at all of them."<p>

Lincoln's face is contorted with obvious distaste as she gazes out at the masses of children and teenagers, some of them even older than me. One particular, older boy looks at me with piercing blue eyes and glares ferociously.

Why are they mad at me, of all people? I was their victor. I brought them luxuries for a year. I frown back at him, pushing my glasses further up onto the bridge of my nose.

"I see," I say quietly. "They look… mad."

"They do every year," sighs Lincoln, fooling around with her ponytail. Her puffy lips are pouted with sadness. "I mean, you know how, like, a third of the district trains and all that. They devote their lives to these Games."

"Yes?"

"The other two thirds?" Her brown eyes gaze out listlessly. "They don't care about the Games, they only care about the protection that the other, eager kids bring them. They know that they're safe. And they flaunt it."

"Who do they flaunt it to?"

"You'd be surprised," Lincoln says.

I'm about to reply when up from behind Lincoln comes Domika, our fellow mentor. Ha, I speak like I'm seasoned at this. Perhaps I'm maturing faster than I originally thought…

Domika, at the prime age of twenty-four and obviously proper and sweet, gives me a gentle hug before embracing Lincoln, as well. "How are you two doing today?" she asks. "Gonna get all excited for the tributes?"

"For sure," I say blandly. I wave my hands around in vague excitement.

She looks at me for a moment. "I mentored you last year," she says quietly. "And you're already onto mentoring the next generation. I'm proud of you, Pelly."

I smile. "Thank you, Domika. Your praise means everything to me."

And it does. I've sort of formed her to be my mother, in my mind. The mother that I never had. I guess what they say is true, then; the victors really do wind up as a family.

They share experiences.

Our escort, clunky in her sparkling gold shoes and shimmering silver dress, mounts the stage and taps the microphone twice. Her eyes, done up in ridiculous amounts of charcoal-like shadow, glance over to us.

We're missing two?

Ah, but just as I realize it, over jogs Teal, his movements quick and jerky and his stupid smile just as wide and cocky as ever. "Hello, all." He's quick to greet us.

"Welcome," Domika says warmly, to which Lincoln and I awkwardly follow up with.

He sits down next to me, slapping my shoulder heartily, and our gazes rapidly fall upon Sheen. Stumbling across the stage blearily, her movements slurred and spasmodic, she finds us after a moment.

"Delly," she spits out, welcoming me first. She shoves forward her hand, and after a moment's hesitation, I take it. It's wet and slimy.

She drunkenly staggers over to the other mentors to greet them, too, and Lincoln clings close to my side, her eyes wide and judgmental.

"I don't see how she brought three of us back," Lincoln hisses. I can only shrug.

Once our escort has confirmed that all of us are in our seats, she smiles, that one Treaty of Treason tape playing in the background. "Welcome, everybody!" she trills.

There's a collective murmur that runs through the crowd like fish through a stream.

"Ladies first. Now Reaping any females available, for Division One!" she announces, not even bothering to move over to the glass bowl that sparkles in the glamorous sunlight.

"I would like to volunteer!"

All eyes snap to a petite girl in back, who quickly scurries up before any other eligible ladies can jog to the stage. Once she halts at the stairs, I can easily see how doll-like and fragile she looks, with dark hair and wide eyes. A pink and white checked dress with a hair bow completes the look.

"Please state your name and age," the escort says, grinning.

"My name is Lolita Trancy," the little girl states simply. "I am fourteen."

Beaming, the escort rubs her hands together. "We have the lovely Lolita, then! Who would like to be her district partner, I wonder…? Division Two ladies, come on up-"

Before anybody can do anything, there's already a blond girl nearing the stage, a scowl placed on her tanned features. She strides up with confidence just radiating off her, and she grabs the microphone, albeit a bit crudely. A smile wavers on her lips as she says her name.

"Sabryn Sinclair. Sixteen."

Our escort attempts a hug, but Sabryn only stands stiffly, arms locked at her sides. "Alright, then," murmurs the escort. "Um, Division Three females…?"

There's no competition at all – a girl strategically placed near the stage, one foot already on the bottom stair, throws her hand up in the air. All eyes snap to her, and, acknowledging this, she grins and nods. Tossing a lock of dark brown hair over her shoulder, she climbs up to the stage and takes the microphone gently.

"My name's Imani Veneur," she announces melodically, her smile never fading. "And I'm eighteen."

The escort's beam only widens as Imani cordially walks over to Sabryn and Lolita to shake their hands. "District One, just _look_ at your females!" she cries out, nearly shuddering in delight.

I blink.

Cocking her head and placing a hand on her hip, she speaks into the microphone in a new, sultry voice. "Now, we Reap the Division One… _male_."

"I VOLUNTE-_EEEER_!"

A very loud shout with the voice cracking on the last word is screeched from the back. Jogging up with cheeks as red as a tomato is a small boy with surprisingly muscular arms. Leaping onto the stage with a sheepish grin, he leans into the escort, eyes straying to the audience.

"Ferric Gauven, age twelve. I'm gonna be your victor, everybody!"

The escort gasps in glee. "Well, aren't you just a darling, Ferric!" The small boy only shrugs and glances at his feet in reply, still displaying that same dazzling grin.

I don't think anybody else notices how suddenly flustered Sabryn looks.

"Now, District One, how about a Division Two male to accompany-"

And then there he is, a tall, blond fellow with a crooked pout and a thick brow. He ascends the stage with a quick stride and is over by the microphone before the escort has a chance to ask him of his name.

"I am Peridot Midas," he says, staring around the stage with a steely glare. His eyes rest upon me, and I shiver. It's people like him who make me feel unwanted in this district. "I am sixteen, on the cusp of seventeen."

A loud cheer begins through the audience in waves, starting from the front and dissolving into the back. But Peridot's eyes are locked in on a couple at the side, both of them embracing the other and gazing at the boy on the stage with misty eyes.

His parents?

"Lovely boy for a lovely Quell," the escort purrs out. She doesn't even have to say the last division because almost immediately…

"Hey!"

This time, the yell comes from the front, and the crowd splits apart to reveal a boy with clear skin and stunning grey eyes. A small smile is plastered onto his mug as he struts up to the stage, one hand on his hip and the other swaying casually.

"Are you volunteering?" The escort asks, a bit confused. This boy certainly doesn't look the type to run up, that's for sure. He's the kind of guy that you'd see in a clothing store, helping customers to find the perfect pair of pants.

"Yes, is there a rule against it?" he quips in a high-pitched voice. A small ripple of laughter flows through the audience, and he turns to the crowd, blinking. "My name is Merchandise Leighton, but you all can call me 'Merch'."

And then, the already effeminate boy takes her by the shoulders and air-kisses her.

"_Him_," comes the yelp from my side. All heads whip to see Teal, springing out of his seat and pointing to Merchandise, eyes wide. "I want to mentor _him_."

Lincoln dissolves into quiet laughter. "Well," she snorts, "looks like this will be a year to remember."

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><p><strong>Slate Bessarion, District Two, 46, Victor of the 71st Hunger Games<strong>

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><p>"What a lovely, lovely day!"<p>

From my side, my wife, Artemis shades her eyes and squints into the sun. "You could roast a turkey out here," I say in agreement.

"Or bake an egg!"

We look at each other – her deep blue eyes gazing deep into mine – and burst out laughing.

"Collect Deya for me, will you?" I say between chuckles, referring to our daughter. "Bring her to the stage for me. I want her to sit with me. It'll be such a thrill for her."

"Slate, she's twenty-nine!" chortles Artemis. "I doubt she'd get much out of it anymore."

I shake my head, smiling and shielding my eyes from the sun. "Whether she'd enjoy it or not, I want her to be up there with me. I'll let her pick the tribute I mentor. A Quell is special, Artemis, you know that."

"But so many gone from our district," she says in a hushed, muted tone. "So many more to _die_."

"Stop being such a pessimist, my dear!" I raise my voice, withdrawing from her a little bit. She watches me carefully. "Artemis, we have a good chance as any to win. These kids have trained, more so than any other district. We're known for our bulky victors. Krono and Lance, remember?"

Krono, meaning the mysterious, brooding child who volunteered a while back out of impulse. He later admitted he'd thought he was dreaming. Lance is the odd one of our victor group, with soft white hair and a soft smile. He's more gentle than any of us, Hestia included. How, exactly, he went to the plate and strangled four tributes with nothing but a serene expression on his face deserts me.

"Ah, and there they are now," Artemis says, obviously trying to avoid any sort of conflict. She breaks free of my hand and rushes forward, her crimson dress swirling in the light gales, and waves freely.

"Artemis!" Lance gasps, obviously happy to see her. He strides slowly – he doesn't run or even jog, he has this sort of staggering walk – and embraces her, a small smile stretching across his face.

Krono, behind him, examines his cuticles and mutters out a hello, pulling his beanie cap over his ears.

Both twenty years old, and yet, so different.

"Where's Helios and Hestia?" Artemis asks, pulling away from the chipper white-haired boy.

"Already on the stage," drawls Lance. He gestures to the square, where already flocks of children are gathering. He meanders out in front of us all, and Artemis and I trot after him. Krono, head hanging low, saunters after us.

Artemis rushes into the crowd to stand by Deyanira and her boy-toy of the week, while Krono and Lance trek up to the stage with me.

"Slate," Hestia greets me first, a beam plastered onto her face. She hugs me. Always the motherly one, she is. "How's Artemis? How's Deyanira? How's the grandkid?"

"I'm not a grandfather yet!" I yelp, a strange feeling spreading through me. "I'm only forty-six!"

"Then it's prime time to get Deyanira joined up with a handsome fellow," Hestia coos, batting her eyelashes sweetly. "Maybe that 'Verde' guy she's been hanging out with, mm?"

"Getting in on my daughter's social life?" I snort, shaking my head in amusement. "Slow news day, huh?"

"You don't know half of it," she giggles.

We all take our seats after some more banter, and once the Treaty of Treason video has played, our escort, Whim, struts up to the microphone. It's draped elegantly with shimmering scarves and ribbons.

One word comes out of her mouth.

"Female?"

And, then, the stereotypical, yet classic…

"I volunteer!"

First come, first serve, right?

No. District Two is rowdy, and we don't care about rules. Nobody does. None. Not a single person.

"No, _I_ volunteer!"

"Get out of the way, dolt!"

"Get a-away!"

"STOP SCRATCHING ME!"

Multiple voices are heard above the chaos, but one stands out the most. It's a careful tone, shouted with the right amount of volume, and yet a certain amount of nervousness, probably fear of not being accepted.

The owner of the voice slips under a tussle of girls and leaps onstage, her eyes frenzied and brown hair slightly messed up. "Hi," she says to the escort.

"Hello," Whim replies, eyes widening in interest. "And you are…?"

"Lynden Avior," says the girl, flicking her hair and smiling over at us. Her eyes are warm and friendly and suggest she's no big threat. But looks can be deceiving. I might not have proved that, but there are loads of victors who did indeed. "I'm seventeen, so I'm in Division Three."

"Splendid," coos the escort, toying with a lock of Lynden's hair. She then turns to the audience of children and parents and everyone in between. "Did you hear that, ladies? Only Divisions One and Two left up for grabs!"

While the masses of girls squabble for the prized place, one girl shoots out of her section and streaks towards the stage in an unattractive fashion. She springs onto the stage, panting dramatically and placing a hand to her chest.

"B-Briana Valleri," she spits out into the microphone, managing to muster up a smile. She places a hand on her hip and tosses her hair in a similar fashion to Lynden. "I am sixteen."

"_Briana_!"

Right away, there's an eighteen-year-old guy struggling in the crowds of males, his face streaked with desperation and need. I silently shake my head. We've seen this too much lately. Somebody volunteers, leaving behind the person who needs them most. It only proves that the tribute is selfish and self-absorbed.

Somehow, I'm always stuck with that tribute.

A small girl hops onstage, unseen by everybody until now. She must have been slinking up to the stage as Briana and Whim spoke. She tugs the sleeve of the escort and offers a small smile. "Hi," she says, introducing herself. "My name is Loren Faust, and I'm thirteen, but just as much victor material as these two."

"Did we hear you volunteer?" Whim asks, puckering her lips.

"I did," Loren replies, pinching the dull purple material of her dress, "I kind of stammered at first, and you might have heard that, or you might have not since I was all the way in the back, but, um, here I am now."

"Wonderful," Whim says, looking her up and down.

Loren actually doesn't look too scrappy for a littler kid. She's got a decent amount of muscle for a preteen, and her eyelashes are so long. The only downfall is how short she is – only up to Briana's shoulder – but I'm sure we could play that off as being cute and adorable, not a weakness.

See, this is the type of tribute I _want_ to mentor.

Tapping the microphone, Whim clears her throat. "Come on, now. Males, males, males. I know you're out there."

And, instead of the girls, there's only a small tussle. Two boys, each at the front of the crowd, both holler out the simple, yet treasured words.

The first one, tall, slim, and blond, starts jogging up front, obviously unaware of the other male. Meanwhile, the second one, dark-skinned with a bulky body, starts treading up with his eyelids at half mast. Swinging his arms carelessly and swaying his head to an imaginary beat, he starts sauntering down the aisle.

And then, the second one notices the first.

He _freaks_ out. He lets out a dogged whoop and surges forward, eyes bulging out of their sockets and arms pumping. By now the slim blond has noticed him, too, and his pace picks up.

But alas, the second boy's already reached the stage, his cool, calm façade shattered. He slinks up to the microphone and grabs it roughly.

"Take _that_, Finnigan!" he hisses out in a booming voice, raising one finger to the retreating boy.

Whim is unamused. "Who are you, exactly?"

"Little old me?" he chuckles, his eyelids slipping back down so he's leering at her. "Saturninus Lynch. But since we're friends you can call me Lynch."

"Lynch." Any trace of a smile on Whim's face is gone. "Um, pleasant."

I also like people like him, who aren't afraid of a little comedy every so often. The only thing about him is that he seems too reckless and impulsive. That could turn out to be a problem.

"Males for any division other than- um, his?"

"Me! Me! _I_ volunteer!"

A youthful cry erupts over the rest and over the steps comes hurtling a boy with messy dark hair, bright eyes, and tanned skin. He hops over to the microphone, flashing a sheepish smile. "I seem to have tripped."

"Your name?" Whim asks, curling her lip. Nothing against the boys, of course – she's just sexist. Personally, I think that this new arrival seems fascinating.

"Akio Kurama," he announces, thrusting a fist into the air and beaming. "Proud to represent Two, both the division and district!"

And then, much to my surprise – I'm being sarcastic – there's another scrimmage in the back, while the older tributes, upset that they missed their shots, stare tiredly at them. An extremely tall, sweating boy bursts forward, followed by a small herd of males behind him, all of them shrieking.

But then…

"_THERE'S A BOMB!"_

The scream overpowers the rest, and the tributes that were running stop abruptly, their heads whipping around to survey for said bomb. The small figure that darts past them doesn't go unnoticed, and the perspiring boy in front gives a frustrated grunt that he was so easily fooled.

The figure makes his way to the stage, revealing his face with a small smile. "My name is Conner DeBlanc." He nods in our general direction and shakes Whim's hand. "Pleased to meet you, even if it's under these, um, circumstances."

A smirk crawls up my face as I survey the six tributes – Lynden, Briana, Loren, Lynch, Akio, and Conner – and the familiar fluttering of hope begins, deep in my stomach. We _do_ have a stupendous chance this year. And we _will_ bring home a victor.

* * *

><p><strong>Mysti Renier, District Four, 27, Victor of the 91st Hunger Games<strong>

* * *

><p>It looks like the kids this year are ready to fight.<p>

As an introvert myself who barely spoke ten words in her victory interview yet had the guts to poison all three of my allies, I can safely observe that. There's four dueling boys, shirtless and growling, and some more children cheering them on. Of course, when I stroll by, they briskly stop and offer me their clammy hands. I smile, gently shaking each of them in turn.

It's nice to have a district with such chivalry. I can only hope that the beads of water on their chests are from rain, not sweat.

I walk myself up to the stage, my grey jacket tightly wrapped around my chest. I'm the first one at the victor's circle – good, I enjoy being punctual. I sit down gently, my pale hair whipping around in the bitterly cold wind.

Calder's the next one to arrive, and he greets me with a huge beam. I pat the chair next to me and he sits, albeit a little restlessly. "I'm happy," he says immediately.

"Because of the Reaping?"

"No, not that…" he covers his mouth briefly, eyes lit up with glee. "Kratt asked me out. Finally."

"I'm so happy for you," I reply, a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading through my body. "You really like him, don't you?"

Calder kisses his fingertips and stretches his arm out to the swirling storm. "Adore him," he announces without a care, a goofy grin overpowering himself. He can't help it. "And I didn't have to do anything but a little heavy-duty flirting!"

I smile, pulling him into a gentle hug. "Who knows? Maybe something truly great could come out of this!"

"Holding out hope would be nice," he responds, snuggling tighter into his oversized jacket.

Lana Fidelis is the next victor to join us, a scowl prominent on her face. She nods gruffly at me and Calder before sitting primly on the edge of her seat.

"Good morning, Lana!" sings out Calder. "It's a great-"

"Put a cork in it," Lana spits, fiery even to her elders. She crosses her arms and glares out at the masses of children. "Another Reaping, another failure year for me."

"You're nineteen," I say gently. "In your defense, you've only mentored one other year."

"But I failed that year, did I not?" Lana growls to me, her hazel eyes dark and angry. I've learned over the four years I've spent living next to her that it's good just to leave this girl alone. She can deal with her own problems. But this? This isn't just a trouble for her, it's one for every victor. We all know the frustration of getting a tribute far – to the finale, even – and watching them perish without a trace, when they could have been so much more than just another forgotten face.

Nuke and Annie arrive together, the latter looking considerably peppy. They sit down, greeting me with enthusiastic words. It's nice to see them out after they've not mentored for so long. It's been me and Nuke for a while, and then me and Calder. Lana took Calder's slot a few years back and never mentored again.

"Look at the escort this year," I giggle, watching the blond man take the stage. Johan, is his name?

"He's not as good as _my_ boyfriend," Calder says haughtily.

Johan has a sassy tone and dark eyes that beseech the kids. He's very attractive, actually, not one of the bubblegum-y escorts that seem to hover around District Four.

"Let's go with…" he taps his slender fingers on the handle of the microphone in a bored fashion, his eyes gazing out into the crowd. He then speaks in a rapid tone. "_Division-One-Male_!"

"Me!"

The first shout that pierces the air is located near the middle, and no voices come after it. We're a polite district, after all.

The boy races up, a cheeky grin plastered onto his chin. He strides up the steps suavely, tipping a small bowler hat to Johan. "My name…" he pauses for effect, eyes dreamily gazing out at his peers. "is Salton Matinee."

"What a chic name," Johan says tiredly. He swivels back to the microphone. "Hm, Division Three female?"

This time, there's no words uttered – our mannerly district figures out who will be the volunteer beforehand, in some cases, to avoid unnecessary conflict. This is one of the cases.

The girl is slender, with clear grey eyes and bouncy brown curls. Waving the skirt of her baby blue dress a little, she mounts the stage gently and smiles down at everybody in an air of responsibility.

When she opens her mouth, it is clear that's not the case.

"I-I-I'm Amalie. Amalie T-Traselle?"

Her fingers lace together and her hands shake. Her lips quiver and she quickly hurries behind Salton, hiding her face behind a curtain of brown hair. I pout, feeling sorry for the poor young girl.

"Division _Two_ male!"

A light clapping of shoes against concrete, now. From four or five different spots, young boys burst out of their spots in the crowd. Some glance at the competition and back off completely. One is stopped abruptly by a crying girl – most likely a sister or girlfriend.

One is left. He has rosy cheeks, pale skin, and the same nervous expression that Amalie wore.

The microphone pressed against his thin lips, he smiles grimly at the crowd, obviously tense and nervous. "Leander P-Pelion," he stammers out, fiddling with the bottom of his olive green sweater. "Representing the boys aged sixteen. Oh, and the fifteen-year-olds, too."

His smile grows more natural as the spotlight shifts from him.

"Division One female, come on up!"

This time, contrary to the usual peaceful serenity of the Reaping, there's a loud brawl in an aisle. Two girls, strikingly identical in their facial structures and overall appearances, tussle with each other, both grunting and screaming at each other. Obviously, one of them is the chosen volunteer. But who?

I pick apart a few differences between them – one has a ponytail and a sea green tank top. The other, straggly blond hair with a cream peplum blouse. Their cheeks are both rosy as strawberries, their mouths outstretched into hollers.

"Let me get up there!"

"No! You're not going! You absolute _fool_!"

"Stop it, Marina!"

"You aren't stealing this from me, Adriana!"

Adriana and Marina. What pleasant names.

But then another girl appears out of nowhere, with a pale face and red hair. She quickly grabs the wrists of the girl with the ponytail and contains her while the girl with the peplum blouse dashes up to the stage, a tear streaking down her cheek.

She takes the stage quickly, trying to groom herself by patting her disheveled hair down and pulling at her top. Her eyes, fiery with a caged determination, swivel over to me, and I instantly know that this is the girl I want to mentor.

"I'm Adriana Aquilare." Her breath ghosts over the microphone. "… I'm sorry." She then scampers to her spot next to Leander, gnawing on her lip.

"Cool," Johan comments. "Hm, let's see, who have we yet to pick… Division Three male!"

Broad, heavy footsteps from the front of the crowd makes everybody glance over to the boy. He's quite tall and dashing, an overbearing grin tainting an otherwise serious face. He's muttering something, and from what I can tell from his lips, it's a sort of poem.

He swoops down to the microphone once he arrives onstage, and I can hear the last few bars of his strange ode.

"…My cries are silenced by the waves around me, I no longer struggle. My home," he breathes, his beady brown eyes gazing over everything, "is this cold sea."

"Pleasant," Johan snarks. "And your name?"

The boy locks his spine rigidly and drags the microphone dramatically up to his lips. "Jaiden Castiel," he growls out in a husky tone. "Not to be cocky or drab, but I'm a real… _fright_ to have."

Johan watches as he retreats to be with his district partners. His lip curls and he wipes his sleeve on the microphone. "Yes, then, um, the remaining slot… Division Two female?"

Claps erupt from the middle section as a blond girl struts out. But once she shows her face, giggling and grinning, it's clear that the applauders are not clapping out of pride and joy for her and District Four – they're clapping because they don't like her. Multiple times on her way to the stage, somebody spits out an insult at her – once or twice, somebody literally spits.

So much for politeness and chivalry!

She takes the stage, pulling down her tight white tank top and shrugging her shoulders at the people who jeered at her. "My name is Eira Valliere," she says in a flippant tone. She tosses her thick blond hair over a shoulder and looks down her nose at the beaming attackers.

How interesting this group of tributes is! We have Salton, quite the little showman. There's Amalie, a bit nervous right now, but with time, she'll bloom. Leander's already discarded his scared emotions, replaced by curiosity and zeal. We have Adriana, bound to be interesting with her freak volunteering. Jaiden with his poems are definitely going to be something to watch. And then there's Eira, who I'm not quite sure what to make of yet.

Whatever the case, this year will be… odd.

* * *

><p><strong>Roland Sanders, District Nine, 49, Victor of the 68th Hunger Games<strong>

* * *

><p>Another year of sadness. Another year of tainted hope.<p>

Desolately gazing across the square, I watch as kids mingle and talk quietly amongst themselves. Somewhere in there are the thirty kids that come to me for training lessons. I can only hope that they'll volunteer this year, that they'll understand that they're the best shot we have got to regain our pride.

District Nine hasn't had a victor since me. That's thirty-two years ago. That's just depressing.

About five years back, when two very strong tributes went down in the bloodbath, something clicked inside me. I was motivated to follow in the footsteps of District Four, which rose from ashes to become a Career district long ago.

At first it was four kids, bored and tired of the same old redundant life. They were confused when I handed them the sickles and scythes. And at first, they were terrible with the weapons, I'll admit. But with time and energy spent, I educated more and more students. I never did lose my touch with a scythe, after all.

And now, my class count has grown to around thirty, of all ages, of all personalities and appearances. It keeps on growing, too. Just a week ago I added two new kids, slender and well-fed sixteen-year-old twins.

It's really quite refreshing to see how eager everybody is. They know it. They think that we have a chance this year, even if in my eyes, it's hopeless. But I continue training them – why?

Maybe I want to do something good for my district. Maybe I want another victor to help me train the kids. Maybe I'm sick of seeing the same jaundiced expressions gazing listlessly out at me each year as they are Reaped. Maybe I want to improve things.

I always was a do-gooder.

A sudden hacking noise from behind me makes me jump before whirling around, immediately knowing who it is. Olivander, my fellow mentor and partner in crime.

"Are you alright?" I shout, knowing that hearing is hard on his nearly-deaf ears. I trot over to him, taking his arm and guiding him gently to a chair.

"F-F-Fine," he stammers out, eyes frantically rolling in their sockets. He's buzzed up. Again.

"You're not fine," I hiss, thrusting a hand into my pocket, rummaging around, and withdrawing a simple blue pill. They were prescribed to Olivander a few months ago, but as he proved that he couldn't take care of them himself, I took over.

They calm his nerves, basically. It doesn't erase the drugs in his system, nor the caffeine, but it relaxes him and that's good enough for me.

I slip it into his mouth and he swallows the pill on reflex. I know that it will take a while to work, but it's again, good enough for me.

The escort comes onto the stage and taps him on the head, flicking her bubblegum pink curls to the side. "Nice to see you two again," she comments gravely. "I believe you remember me? Tripoli?"

"Yes, Tripoli. I remember you." I smile, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder. "Olivander does, too-"

"What a p-pretty girl," Olivander stutters out, watching Tripoli with unfocused eyes. He slinks forward, tugging on a lock of her pink tresses and smiles sickly. "I think-"

"We'd best be leaving," I cut him off, forcing him back into his chair. "Nice to see you again, though, Tripoli! I expect we'll be talking more on the train."

The escort flounces to the microphone and I try to contain Olivander as he attempts to lurch out of his seat to follow her.

"What a nice day to Reap some kids," Tripoli comments, shrugging as she moves to the glass bowls, taking the microphone with her. "I'm not one to beat around the bush. Let's start with males for a change."

She plunges her hand in the bowl, as if expecting nobody to volunteer, but contrary to her expectations…

A scream comes from the front section, and following the noise comes a bulky guy, surging forward with a stoic expression. I recognize him immediately as one of the kids I work with, excelling in particularly the area of combat, not so much the agility bit.

"Spiridon Floros," he announces once he's face-to-face with the microphone. A small smile breaks through his stony exterior and he nods to me curtly, eyes shining.

Tripoli smiles bleakly, patting him on the shoulder. Pat, pat. "Good to see such an enthusiastic young man," she says. "What division are you representing, Spiridon?"

"Division Three!"

"Lovely," replies the escort briskly, dipping her hand into the glass bowl again. This time, she's quick and actually manages to pull out a slip of paper before… not the cry of a volunteer, but panting. Heavy breathing and loud footsteps as a boy tears down the aisle to the stage, eyes frenzied and wide.

Jumping directly onto the stage, he stumbles a little, which causes the audience to laugh a bit. But once he stands still, the laughter grows to a louder volume – the kid's wearing pajamas with frogs and ducks on them!

Aside from his preposterous clothing, he has a serious case of messy hair, paired with a bandage adorned on his cheek, although there's not a scratch on his body. Strange. He's not a kid I've ever seen. Does he even live in this district?

"Zane Ackerman," he says gently into the microphone, smiling a little. "I'm in Division Two."

His grin only grows wider as the children laugh more and more, and he even finds it in him to give a little bow. Tripoli, however, is not amused.

She plunges her hand into the glass bowl once the laughter dies down due to her stern expression, and she's reading off the name when, from the back of the crowd, comes a raucous shriek.

Or maybe it's the sound of a dying crow. Either way, it's quite loud.

Squirming free from the kids, I see movement. A kid with a head of sandy hair and a round head emerges, a Cheshire smile on his mug. He throws his arms up in the air and does a quick little shimmy, dancing down the aisle the entire way, never once giving up that overjoyed expression.

More laughter comes from the children as the boy changes tactics, opting to grab some girl's yellow umbrella and hold it out in front of him as he taps his feet rapidly on the ground. A hat is thrown at him, a sunhat with pink flowers adorned on it, and he gladly plops it on his head, bobbing his head to an imaginary beat.

Sadly, his little dance number is given up as a Peacekeeper starts treading behind him, flashing a taser. The boy yelps slightly and, throwing the umbrella to the ground, streaks towards the stage.

He shows his face more clearly, and I inwardly groan. I remember this guy. He showed up to a couple of my lessons, yammered on about how useless they were, and then begged for me to teach him how to use a sickle.

"Rhett Valdez is my name!" he cheers to the beaming crowd of kids and parents. "I'm _overjoyed_ to represent you all!"

Tripoli even cracks a smile. "How lovely," she coos softly, fingering the brim of the floppy sunhat and moving to the second glass bowl.

This time, the person who jogs up isn't loud or comical. Simply moving quickly with a neutral expression on her face and her dark hair flying free in the soft gales, she takes the stage quietly.

I remember her, too. She's been a regular at my lessons.

"Imogen Khareen," she says with an air of finality. "Division Two."

Almost robotic in how she says it, her eyes are like marbles, not really staring at anything but the escort. They're focused, yet wavering just a tad.

Yet, I appreciate how she doesn't show off her weakness. Trying to put up a calm, smooth façade is wonderful for her reputation.

Tripoli smiles gently at her, obviously grateful that she didn't put on too much of a show. Her hand dunks into the bowl, only to be met with the strong, confident, surprisingly husky voice that shouts-

"I volunteer."

I immediately place her. One of my top students. Her blond hair flows after her as she strides up to the stage, not wasting any time in shaking the escort's hand and announcing her name proudly.

"Deverra Lisett. Division Three, _obviously_."

I smile at her, and she replies with a toss of her thick hair.

Tripoli gazes at the five tributes standing before her. "And now, the final tribute," she mutters into the microphone, her hand slipping inside the glass bowl, but her eyes trained on the audience, as if she expects some youthful girl to come careering up.

But nobody comes.

She withdraws a slip, unfurling it dramatically, as if giving any potential volunteers time to saunter up to the stage. But again, the only sound is the thin whistle of the wind.

"Cheyenne Macrae?"

Gasps erupt from the back. Kids move towards each other, all their heads turned in the same direction – to a slender, petite girl with dark hair.

Shock registers on her face. Her head whips from side to side, her features rapidly crumpling up. It's clear that she's waiting for somebody to volunteer, but nobody does. There's no one for her.

A girl behind her slinks up and offers her a push, and Cheyenne topples forward, quickly regaining her balance and, trembling, walks up to the stage. Her hands fiddle with her maroon cardigan. A crystalline tear leaks out of her eye.

Once she's onstage, lips parted and eyes filled with worry, is when Olivander leans into me. "I know we divide t-tributes up equally-" obviously, the blue pill is slowly taking effect- "but I want her. Cheyenne. She's mine."

"Fine by me," I murmur. "I think that I'll take more of the stronger ones, but you can have Spiridon, if you like. He's educated enough."

"I'll have Cheyenne and him a-and you can have the r-rest," Olivander says, nodding. "Look at us, R-Roland. We've got such a chance this year."

A chance.

It's nice to have, really.

Another victor would be such a miracle.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Big Eyes by Lana del Rey.**

**Hey, all. So we've finished the Reapings, isn't that fantastic? :) You got a glimpse of all the mentors, as well, and the first peeks at the tributes. Pretty fine, yes?**

**Alright, nothing much more to say other than my format for this story will be identical – or at least, pretty much the same – as Contrary, so if you wanna check the format out for that, cool. Eight tribute POV's for each Capitol chapter, and then interviews and a launch chapter. Rad.**

**Oh, and an update on the blog. I've updated Adriana's picture, since some couldn't see it too well, and I've also tweaked Spiridon's quote just a tad, to avoid any offense.**

**Question time for y'all :O**

**Thoughts on each POV?**

**Which tributes stood out?**

**Which mentors stood out?**

**General thoughts?**


	5. Without Me

.

_**Now this looks like a job for me, so everybody just follow me.  
>'Cause we need a little controversy, 'cause it feels so empty without me.<strong>_

* * *

><p><strong>Sabryn Sinclair, District One, Division Two<strong>

* * *

><p>"This is an interesting group."<p>

I scowl at Domika as she smiles, gazing over everybody. "So we've got four extra tributes than is the norm. What's the problem with that? It's a Quell." The words are spat out of my mouth.

Sheen glares at me while Domika chuckles unpleasantly. "Um, calm down, Sabryn. I was just saying. No need to get defensive."

"I, for one, think that this is a great group," Ferric pipes up, and my stomach twists.

This was supposed to be my opportunity to escape, to become a new person where nobody knew me. Ferric might be one of ten people who actually knows who I am. That's a huge drawback.

I mean, we're not close or anything. I barely know the kid other than he's my little brother's best friend. But he was at my house a ton. He saw me sobbing when my boyfriend broke up with me. He was there every single weekend when I came downstairs, grinning happily. He knew who I was. He knows the real me.

I hate it.

And yet I put on a blank face for the group, because as much as Ferric might know me for who I am, these people don't.

A fresh start – or almost.

"So, when do we get to eat around here?"

Ferric again.

"Anytime," replies Sheen, belching the word out. She rises unsteadily, gestures for us to follow, and traipses down the hall to the dining car.

It's nothing special – just a large room with tables, wide windows, and large selections of different food – but it sure smells fantastic. Tantalizing savory sauces, sweet jams, and multiple different casseroles blended together.

"Dig in, and collaborate with your given mentors," our screechy escort advises as she plucks a small crescent roll from a nearby table.

I sit down delicately in a booth and grab a sugar-encased pastry from the table. But I don't eat it, I roll it around and around in my hands until they're coated in sticky sugar paste. Sheen plops down at the seat across from me and digs into a bowl of gloppy cream-colored pudding.

"So, kid," she says cheerfully. "Shall I get to know ya?"

"I'm Sabryn," I say, wiping my hands clean on a napkin. "You do remember my name, right? You're mentoring me, after all."

"Right, right. Just wondering if you had a nickname or something."

"You seem to have taken up calling me 'kid'," I grumble out.

"I call everybody that." Sheen leans back, eyes flickering around the room, where the other tributes have already taken up talking to their own respective mentors. "Some special people get the honor of being called 'pal' or 'harpy'."

"Harpy?"

"Yeah, it's like some old mythical bird granny," she replies flippantly. "Anyways, we digress. Back to you. Any dark secrets that you wanna get out into the light?"

"Not quite?" I wince slightly, quickly masking that grimace with a snooty frown. I'm aware that it's condescending, but this is Sheen, the drunk old bat who basically slurs her words and claps at the Reapings. I don't care what she thinks of me. It's not her funeral. "I'm an open book, to be perfectly honest."

Sheen chuckles with her mouth closed, creating a freaky sound. "Nice, I've heard that story fifteen hundred times before. I want to know all about you. Honestly. What do you have to lose?"

"What do you mean?" I have to admit, my curiosity has been perked.

"I'm your mentor. Even if you're trying to put on a show for the Capitol and the districts, I'll help you with it. I need to know as much about you as I possibly can." Her hand grips my wrist and she stares at me. "I am one hundred percent on your side, Sabryn. Trust me."

I stare at her hand next to mine, flecked with sugar still from my pastry. I swallow thickly. Do I trust her? I've never been the best at making decisions, honestly.

Why not? It's not like she'll be there in the arena, anyways.

"Sure," I say finally, gently removing my wrist from her hand and tucking it underneath the table. "I'm just kind of afraid, you know?"

"How so?"

I make sure the people at the next table aren't listening, before leaning in close and whispering, "I'm actually not as smart as I seem."

"I can collect that much," Sheen snorts appreciatively. "I didn't think you were of the intelligent type."

"Thanks so much," I bite back bitterly, "but on any rate, I think I might need your help on some alliances."

"I can definitely help with that," my mentor says warmly. "Do you want to look here, with _theeeeeeese_ tributes?" She belches, gesturing wildly to my district partners scattered around the dining car.

"Maybe?" I shrug helplessly, hoping I don't look too much like a lost puppy. "I don't know, what do you suggest?"

"District partners are the way to go," Sheen chortles. "To be fair, we haven't had much work with them because we've already had a ready-made Career pack, but this year everybody's branching off in different groups, of course."

"Who should I work with here, then?" I peek furtively over the top of the booth, glowering at Lolita, who dares glance at me.

"I suggest Peridot, maybe?" Sheen smiles wisely. "He seems pretty strong without being over-the-top, with division and all. You two might click, who knows?"

"Peridot…" A smile accumulates on my face before I can help it, but I quickly wipe it off with a scowl. "I actually like that idea."

Peridot. Yes.

And as my gaze flickers over to the blond boy, nibbling down on a turkey leg delicately, the idea becomes better and better in my mind.

I _like_ it.

* * *

><p><strong>Conner DeBlanc, District Two, Division One<strong>

* * *

><p>"Hi, my name's Loren!"<p>

The chipper voice pierces the silence and I look up in slight irritation from my book. Books are great. They forgive you and they never change. I don't like people so much, like this Loren kid.

She pokes her nose over my shoulder, long eyelashes fluttering and lips parting in a pert smile. "What are you reading, huh?"

I slowly slide the book so she can see better. "It's not much, just something that Helios gave me to read and interpret while on the train. It's about a whale and a fisherman."

"Sounds interesting," Loren chirps, taking a seat across from me. Her smile beseeches me. "Did you ever want to move to District Four or something like that?"

"Not especially," I grumble. "Can I just get back to my book?"

"Sorry, no." Her forehead crinkles as she laughs. "We were paired with Akio for a little group exercise thing, Lance said. It's supposed to test our dynamics as allies!"

"I already know who I want for an ally," I reply grumpily, a bit upset that this girl just walked over and practically threw herself at me. "And it's most decidedly not you."

Loren looks at me, slightly intrigued, almost. "You sure talk weird, all those big words." She swipes my book away from me, props it on the chair next to her, and offers a wink.

"It merely shows intelligence," I reply sourly. "It's better than using bad grammar like the uncultured swine of Two. Now, where's Akio?"

"Here!"

In swoops in the chipper boy with a serious case of bedhead. He plops down next to Lauren, giving her a friendly pat on the head, before excitedly wiggling and looking at me, mouth quivering as if in the aftermath of a cry. "Hello," he greets me warmly. "You're Conner, I know that much!"

"Smart one, aren't you," I reply dryly, looking him up and down. He's jittery. Seems pretty childish. He'll be a fun one.

"I can get us some _refreshments_!" he cries, hopping out of his seat and scampering over to a table with some food items on it. He swipes a plate of small sandwiches and a little bowl of red juice, then hurtles back over to us.

It takes exactly three seconds for him to run directly into a chair and spill all the drink and sandwiches all over himself.

I groan silently, looking longingly at my book.

In darts Lance, his eyes wide and frazzled. "What was that crashing sound?" He drawls, somehow still managing to sound panicked.

Loren giggles, pointing to Akio.

"H-He did it!" stammers out Akio, in turn pointing to me.

Heat rises to my cheeks, and I quickly stand up, glaring. "I did?!"

"See, look, he confessed!"

"I want each of you to calm down," Lance tries, but I can't help myself from striding over to the food table, grabbing a napkin, and angrily scrubbing at my shoes from where the juice splashed onto them. Loren's cackling laughter in the background, combined with Akio's whiney, accusatory tone, and Lance's frantic chattering, create quite the sound that I'm not a fan of.

Throwing the napkin to the ground in utter disgust of the uncivilized hogs I'm surrounded by, I storm into the next train car.

This one is a lot better. In this one, chatting quietly and giving off the occasional laugh, are Briana, Lynden, and Saturninus – the boy whom I refuse to call him 'Lynch'.

I take a seat next to Lynden, who looks at me in a dazed, kind of surprised way. "You're Conner, right?" she says. "You kind of hung in the background when we were all talking earlier."

"I prefer to observe," I respond.

"Big words for a little man," Saturninus comments.

"I'm little in stature but my personality is great." I pause for effect. "Or, rather, that's what my parents say."

"They must be big back in the district, huh?" He claps my back and I'm forced forward, but I quickly act like it's not a big deal.

"My father, at least." I sigh. "My mother is what you all would call a 'party girl'. She's nothing but a child at heart. My father, however, he's the real breadwinner of the family." I smile, content with the memories that his name brings. "I miss him, even now."

"An hour in and the little one can't take it."

That's the first time Briana has spoken, and I'm not sure I like her tone. Instead of piping up and making myself a lethal enemy on day one, I merely ignore her, throwing an exasperated smile at Saturninus and Lynden. I don't quite like the people here, but these two seem to be alright.

"Are you excited for the Games, little buddy?" Saturninus coos down at me.

Scratch that. I like Lynden, and Lynden only.

And yet I suck it up and manage to come up with a good reply, because, well, I know how to be better than those who look down upon me. Literally, the man's a beast.

"I'm quite excited," I answer flippantly, nodding. "I have all the skills necessary to become a true victor like those who have come before us."

Behind me, Lynden grins and squeezes my arm. "Good for you, Conner. You really have drive."

Drive, indeed. Over the years I've accumulated so much motivation and intelligence, that even in the arena with hulks like Saturninus, I fully believe in my skills and ability to come out and reign as victor.

"Thank you, Lynden." I smile. "Thank you."

* * *

><p><strong>Adriana Aquilare, District Four, Division One<strong>

* * *

><p>Eyes widened to enhance my sight in the dark, I slink along the hallway.<p>

I couldn't sleep – physically couldn't. It was like I had chugged twelve energy drinks in one sitting. The split second my eyelids fluttered shut, they bounced back open with intensity. I figured the best thing I might as well do is go down to the dining car and have an early-morning snack, maybe meditate a bit.

On the way to the dining car, I half-turn my head to the window and see a beautiful view that I must stop by and glance at.

"We're almost to the Capitol." A smile rises to my lips and I gently graze my fingers against the chilly window pane, gazing out at the tendrils of pink and orange that are beginning to creep across the blackened sky.

A chuckling sound coming from behind me makes me whip around, heart suddenly thumping. It's only Mysti, though, my mentor.

"Oh, hello, Mysti," I say happily, embracing her quickly. "Did you see the lights yet?"

"I love watching the sunrises, yes." A faint smile crawls onto her face. "I have a liking for beautiful things."

I laugh hoarsely, sliding into a chair. "The arena won't hold many beautiful things for me, I'm afraid."

"I was going to ask you last night about that," she says, taking a seat beside me. "Why did you volunteer, Adriana? You scuffled a lot in the crowd, at the very least."

"That was my sister, Marina." Goosebumps arise on my arms, but fade away as quickly as they came. "She's my parents' crown jewel in terms of daughters."

"You two are twins?"

"Exactly, and she's the better one," I reply. "She's buffer, more trained than I, meaner, probably prettier, even though we're identical, and generally more popular. I don't think without the help of my friend, though, that I'd even have gotten on the stage."

"You still haven't answered my question." Mysti peers at me curiously. "Why did you volunteer?"

I sigh in mild frustration. "I wanted… to show… that I was just as good as Marina. If not, better. I am sick of being put out of the spotlight, overshadowed by my own twin sister. I sort of want to show my entire district who I am, since only two or three people actually acknowledged my presence…"

"Well, I'm acknowledging you now." Mysti smiles and rubs my arm encouragingly.

"But that's not all," I say quickly.

"What's more to it, then?"

"I'm not the orthodox Career," I begin, rushing through the words. "I-I train in untraditional ways, and I believe in spiritual things, unlike most. I meditate, and I do yoga, and I'm a total health nut, and from all I've seen, no other Career is like that. I want to bring to light my methods."

"That's a good reason, but…" the blond-haired woman seems to be at a loss for words. "You seem too sweet to be killing people in a few days, Adriana."

I smile bitterly through the pain in my chest. "I'll do what I have to do," I say. "Despite what everyone else may say, being a contrary Career is not a curse."

Mysti winks and pats my head. "Good for you," she chirps. "Even though I think you're taking this… a bit to the extreme, I'm supporting you whole-heartedly."

"Thank you, Mysti." I consider her words for a moment before dubbing them good, and grinning. "I really could use a friend on my side. I'm not sure who to ally with…"

"I'm not one for advice on that, usually," she coos in a remorseful tone. "I tend to let my tributes make their own choices about that. I'm sorry."

I fake a smile and force a laugh. "That's okay," I say. "Not everybody is good at everything. And sometimes, you have to depend on yourself, not others."

_It's true_, I muse as Mysti offers a nod and gazes out the window at the sprawling pastel lights. _You have to rely on your own instincts, your own actions and thoughts to get you through the time. At the end of the day, you can't dare lean back on another person for help. I've learned that. It only gets you a knife sliding into your back._

That's something I'm not here to experience. I came to play. I came to win for myself, and myself only. If I win, I doubt I'll even visit my family much – what's left for me, with them?

"I think I'm going-"

"Oh, look, Adriana!" Mysti's voice is elevated slightly, with an air of awe drifting around by it. "Look at it, the Capitol!"

I fly to the window, the breath being sucked out of me as if through a vacuum. I stare in awe at the shimmering towers with square lights – windows, tall glassy things that I can barely see with my naked eye. Structures of metals and different sheens are illuminated by differently-colored lights, beaming up at them. A bustling noise can already be heard from the outside of the train as we pull onto a bridge.

"The people, Adriana, look at them!"

Blinking in utter surprise as we zip past a splash of incredible colors, I back up slightly. "Were those people? From what I could see, they were only tall, flamboyant things."

"Some are out for a nightly – well, morning now – stroll!" Mysti replies, still glued to the window. "There's a sidewalk path by the train tracks – with an invisible electric barrier to keep the people off the tracks, of course."

"Wow," I breathe, my hands pressed tightly against the cold window pane. "Would Capitol people jump?"

Mysti only shrugs, offering me an unanswered question and a thought plaguing my mind.

If I was a Capitolite, I would jump. No question. I can't imagine sending all those kids to their deaths, when they didn't even ask for it. The volunteers, like me? They're another story. They know the risk and they seized the chance. They lost theirself in the moment. They begged for it.

The rest of the kids?

They wanted nothing to do with this.

And that's sick, how they force them.

* * *

><p><strong>Zane Ackerman, District Nine, Division Two<strong>

* * *

><p>"Look at this gross stuff," I comment, forcing a laugh as I pick up a ball of the pink goop. "What's this supposed to do, huh?"<p>

The woman on my prep team glares at me and shakes her head. "It's a shampoo," she hisses at me. "Now get your filthy hand out of there."

Reproachfully, I drop the goo ball and withdraw my hand in shame.

The Capitol's been alright so far. We got off the train early this morning, where I was still cozily dozing off in my frog pajamas – still stained with memories from the Reaping – and rudely awoken to Olivander, who was, of all things, screeching into a trumpet and making all of us startle awake.

In comparison, the Capitol's a heaven.

Well, actually, if I were to be frank, the Capitol is a heaven. I got whatever I wanted for breakfast, even when I tried to be silly and order a goose-egg's omelet. They gave me a goose-egg's omelet! And they even dyed it purple, like I had asked! And the worst part was that I had to swallow every slimy bite of it, while the others feasted on pancakes and powdered sugar and thick steaks and steaming platters of hot grains and fresh fruit.

So far, my façade of being funny and appealing's only backfired. I scared off Cheyenne, who kinda stared at me with her huge eyes. Rhett was drawn to me, but _I_ was scared off by _him_. Spiridon and Deverra scoffed at me and flounced away, while Imogen ignored me completely.

I must have better luck with One, Two, and Four.

"Stand up and turn around," orders the tan-clad man with the slick mustache, gesturing to me as I obey. He starts lathering something into my scalp, but it's gritty and doesn't muster up a lot of foam.

"When's the chariot parade start?" I ask politely.

The woman retrieves a large black bag from the hook by the door and offers a smile that looks more like a grimace. "About an hour. You'll have a while to mingle with your peers after we're through with you."

"Oh, um, fun," I reply, hoping I sound sincere. "What's in the bag?"

"Your costume."

"W-What's my costume?"

The lady slides a hanger out of the bag, a flash of shimmering golden fabric, light bouncing off of it attractively. "You'll be a wheat field," she says. "We finally have enough tributes to pull it off. When the chariots roll out, you'll all start swaying like wheat stalks."

I cringe slightly. "Uh, but in previous years, haven't we had fun things like farmers and workhands?"

"Yes, but this is the year that we finally have the amount of kids to do this," says the third and final member of my team, the man with the teal hair and the glossy white outfit. "Be proud, Zane."

I smile slightly, nodding my head. I guess we could pull it off. They wouldn't try and make us look stupid, after all. They want people to sponsor us.

The prep team finishes with me rapidly, and I pull on the golden jumpsuit and stare lifelessly at my reflection in the mirror. It looks fine, it's stretchy and it's not too tight or anything, but I feel like a dunce. The headdress of wheat stalks that rustle loudly doesn't exactly boost my self-esteem, either. At least there's golden paint splattered on my cheeks to hide my flaming cheeks.

"A wheat stalk," I say under my breath, inwardly glaring. "What imbeciles made up this idea?"

The man with teal hair looks insulted. I must have spoken louder than I'd meant to. "That imbecile was _me_," he chokes out tearfully, clutching at his heart.

I'm all but shoved out of my dressing room not long after that, and soon I'm roaming the halls after the guy in the dressing room across the hall – the pale-faced sixteen-year old from Four – all while tugging at the headdress.

I meet Deverra first, who looks not idiotic but regal in her outfit. The pants hang just right on her willowy frame, and her long blond hair flowing underneath the headdress looks natural. The paint's smeared perfectly to contour her face, something I usually wouldn't notice, but she looks really good. And I mean, _really_ good.

"Smoking," I say, grinning as I walk up to her.

She wrinkles her nose. "Ew. You're like, ten."

Mildly insulted but craving her approval, I stride closer. She backs away. "Sorry for, uh, my language," I start again, my voice cracking. "I'm not sure what's wrong with me."

"Me, either."

"No, no, I didn't mean like that." I laugh dryly, to which Deverra stares at me with a wrinkled nose and a mean stink eye. "I meant, um…"

"What he meant-" cheers a boy from behind me, loping up and looping his arm around my neck – "was that you look great, really, but you're probably not going to get many other compliments if you keep that scowl on your face."

Deverra stares at the boy – obviously a representative of Two, with his outfit, a crooked crown and blood-smattered robes – and nods slightly. "I wasn't hoping for any," she replies, for once free of a snarky response.

The boy grins at her, nodding right back, and winks. "You do look great, though," he says. "Hot."

Deverra exhales loudly and the boy, still with an iron grip on my neck, starts guiding me away from her. Once we're a safe distance away and my brains are about to burst thanks to the lack of circulation, the boy thrusts his hand out for mine. "Hey," he says.

"Hi," I reply, slightly dazed. I offer my hand out, too, and we shake.

"The name's Akio, but you probably knew that from the Reapings." He shrugs. "I don't know if this is early, but perhaps you were looking for an ally?"

My heart's in my chest. A… friend? Who offered themselves to me? Is this really happening?

"Yes," I croak out, bedazzled by his charisma. "Most definitely…"

* * *

><p><strong>Eira Valliere, District Four, Division Two<strong>

* * *

><p>So, we're fish.<p>

I scope out the rest of my district partners while tugging at my own dress, dripping in little jewels and scales. A couple of tributes have tried to approach me, complimented the fish fins that wrap so elegantly around my head, but they've either been too young – like Loren from Two – or too strange – like Zane from Nine – or too… off-limits.

Like Saturninus Lynch, who popped up to me and started talking in his booming voice. He's not my type. A good meat shield, since half the time he was staring at my chest and seemed rather dazed, but in the end, I could see myself getting attached to him. He was like a chocolate candy, hardened on the outside with gushy and soft innards.

He's the kind of person that I love to observe, but simply cannot risk growing close to.

Somewhere in the speakers above us, a monotone voice announces for all the mingling tributes to get onto their designated chariots. There's one for every two tributes, the younger tributes of each district going first, then the middle division, then the oldest. That means I'll be on the eighth chariot, with Leander.

The said boy looks tense and nervous as he mounts the steps up to the platform and offers me an apprehensive smile. He looks younger than his years, like he's thirteen or fourteen instead of sixteen. I almost feel pitied for him.

The first chariot rolls out, bearing the two little kids from One. Clad in outfits soaked in sparkling gems and hair so tightly bound with glitter, they look almost inhuman.

"Their outfits are ridiculous," Leander says softly.

"You could say the exact same things about us." I flick the fish fin that's clinging to my temple. "Look, I'm wearing a fish corpse."

Leander's skittish smile widens a little, and I silently berate myself for being so open to him. I'm not supposed to grow attached. I'm _not_…

The chariots exit to the deafening sound of the Capitol's roars of applause. Our chariot creeps closer and closer to the doors where we'll enter the runway, and yet, I'm not the least bit worried or apprehensive. I know how to bend it so they can love me. I mean, I'm not _ugly_.

Our cart lurches forward, the shimmering brown horses already snorting as they trot forward, and Leander's quick to clutch my hand. I stare at his sweaty palm, slipping up and down my wrist as he grips the edge of the chariot with his other hand.

"E-Eira?" His voice cracks pathetically. "This is overwhelming…"

I wrestle my hand free and toss my head, blond locks swiftly flowing over my shoulders. "Suck it up," I reply, wiping my hand on the side of my short dress.

Honestly, it'll all be over in ten minutes. He needs to take a sip of a cup of calm.

The doors are open as the horses gaily canter out into the bright lights of the runway. Drummers that stand beneath the tall bleachers of people pound their drums with intensity and precision. I close my eyes for a brief moment while Leander gasps loudly, grasping the bar in front of us. When my eyes flutter open and I gracefully cling to the bar, following Leander's example, I can see the crowd more clearly.

Half of the people hold signs, flickering with decorative light and glittery stuff. Some have words I can't make out, while some are a simple name, bolded with marker.

_Lolita. Spiridon. Adriana. Salton. Sabryn. Jaiden. Imani._

It seems like everyone's a favorite. I can even make out my name on one or two of the signs, which I have to admit, I wasn't expecting, due to the disgust at the Reaping that the other kids gave me. Maybe they're shallow and basing their judgment on my looks.

Our chariot rolls down the runway, and I happily wave to everybody, grinning and winking at a few points. Next to me, Leander's still tense, but he's come out of his shell a little, his ears perking up and a slow smile spreading across his mug.

_Good for him._

I turn away from him as our chariot pulls up to the one containing Saturninus and Imani, who are clad in golden robes and crowns smattered with something that resembles blood, both holding a bedazzled scepter. The chariot that pulls up to our left is the younger kids from Nine, Cheyenne looking petrified while Rhett's chuckling, mischievous eyes glancing everywhere. They look ridiculous in golden jumpsuits and huge headdresses of odd tanned spokes.

The drumming that was previously thumping has ceased, while everyone's attention turns to the small, elevated podium that hovers in the center of the semicircle of chariots. Any minute now, the president will come out, say a couple words wishing each tribute luck, and quietly leave.

But there's nothing.

Confused and rather bored, I drum my fingers against the bar of the chariot while Leander, now relaxed and less uptight, gently shushes me with a hiss of air between his teeth.

But all of a sudden, something happens. There's movement on the podium.

But it's not the president.

It's a hologram.

Confused, I lean in closer to attempt to sneak a peek on the other side of the podium and see if this is some big joke, as if the real president will burst out in a shower of confetti and streamers, grinning and waving. But no, the hologram's mouth opens and a robotic, croaky voice flows out, with numerous hitches.

"Hello, tributes," she says. "I am sorry I am not there with you in body, but with mind."

"What's wrong with her?" I whisper out as she continues on.

"Good luck this year, to each of you. You will have betrayals. Friendships. Even some relationships. But in the end, every single one of you will die – except for one lucky person, male or female."

_Well, that's chipper._

The president's flickering image offers a weary smile down on us. "Have a wonderful year, tributes. And, as it is traditional, may the odds be ever in your favor."

The hologram trembles twice and disappears.

* * *

><p><strong>Merchandise Leighton, District One, Division Three<strong>

* * *

><p>Hopping off the chariot and dusting my arms from the itchy silver glitter, I ignore Imani as she calls after me. I usually like most people, but she's been nothing but blunt and cold to me. I <em>don't<em> dig that.

But, hey, Teal did say that the time after chariots was some of the best time to talk up some potential allies.

I've already chatted with my district partners, kind of figured out what makes each of them tick. Ferric's a pretty awesome guy, he's loquacious and happy most of the time, though he and Sabryn have avoided each other a lot. Sabryn herself is like a littler version of Imani, kind of snarky and callous.

Lolita's adorable. She reminds me of a doll. Rather meek and cautious of my feelings, I almost asked her to be allies right then and there, despite how frail she was. But something held me back. I'm not quite sure what. Peridot, too, seems crude and uncaring of what others think. I like that, but again, like with Lolita, something holds me back.

I'm so caught up in trying to peel the glitter off of my arms without stripping off any of the arm hair that I have left that I don't notice a pair of pale grey eyes staring right at me.

Well, I do notice, actually, after a minute or so.

Amalie Traselle slinks up to me, her hair sleek and flowy and her dress clinging to her limber form. She offers me a serene smile and I grin back.

"Hello, there," I say immediately.

She giggles, bringing a hand up to her puffy lips. She's rather cute, actually, with clear skin and long lashes. "Hi," she replies in a tinkling voice. "My name is Amalie."

"I'm Merchandise Leighton, but you could call be Merch! If you want, I mean," I add hastily.

"Merch is a great nickname," she says evenly.

"Thanks," I chuckle, staring at the ground.

All of a sudden there's silence, and it doesn't seem like either of us is willing to break it, no matter how much I want to get to know her better. I mean, she approached me. It's like she's a guest in my home, but not really.

"Do you-"

"Hey, Merch-"

We stop abruptly and dissolve into laughter. Her cheeks flush red and her shoulders shake. "You go first," I say between giggles. "Ladies first, right?"

"Um, well…" Still grinning softly, she blinks a few times and brings her fingers up to her long hair, where she intertwines them between silky strands. "I don't wanna be rude or anything, but would you..."

"Yes, go on," I encourage her, my heart fluttering .

"Would you want to train with me tomorrow?"

My heartbeat falters but continues on. Training with her? I was expecting her to ask me to be allies, but hey, if she's cautious, that's good. I can be cautious, too. "I'd _love_ to," I reply, taking her hand and squeezing it. Her cheeks flare up another shade of red and she giggles once more.

"So it's a date, then?" Amalie suddenly freezes after she says that, her breath hitched.

I want her to feel comfortable. I drop her hand and place it on my hip, my palm suddenly sweaty. "It's a date," I say gently.

Amalie smiles, glancing to the elevator. "Well, I'd best be off," she says smoothly, scratching an itch on her elbow. "I want to be rested for tomorrow, you know! I want good dreams and all that."

"Most definitely!" I reply, giving her a slight hug and nodding. "Have a good night, Amalie!"

She leaves, blushing.

And then I'm on my own again, surrounded by mingling tributes, most of them sticking closely to a district partner or two, and some isolated ones. I find Lolita, still in her chariot, staring out at the parties with a blank expression.

I take a seat next to her. "Hi," I offer.

She averts her gaze to meet my eyes. Her irises are startlingly dark. "Hey, Merchandise," she says in a fluid tone. "Crazy out there, isn't it?"

I smile. "Total pandemonium," I emphasize, crossing my legs. "Makes you wonder what it will be like in the actual Games, huh?"

Lolita gazes out at everybody once more. "I'd think that everybody would be ruthless," she says simply. "No mercy, just slaughter. Everyone wants this so bad."

"It's a little sickening," I murmur, "but hey, I guess I'm just as bad as the rest, right? I volunteered for this."

"As did I." Lolita sighs. "Sometimes I wonder why I did."

I don't press her – I know that Lolita's state of mind is a little sporadic, and I don't want to rush her. I'm crude and bold at most times, but I have a soft spot for girls like her and Amalie. Some vibe that they give off makes me halt myself. "Same here."

Lolita peers at me curiously. "Why did you, then?"

Well, apparently she has no qualms about being brazen.

I shrug. "My family, maybe. We're all the perfect picture of a Capitol-supporting group of people. My sister was actually supposed to volunteer, but she got pregnant and, well, she's pretty ticked about it."

"How old is she?"

"She was eighteen and the best in her region of expertise." I sigh. "Sometimes I wish she was in here, before I remember if you want anything done right, you'd better do it yourself."

"I know that from experience," mutters Lolita darkly.

We sit for a while, just observing the interactions of the others, before I turn to her. "Hey, Lolita?"

"What do you want?"

"Do you want to train with me tomorrow?"

Her eyelashes flutter. She gazes at me with admiration. "Sure, Merchandise. I'd _love_ to."

* * *

><p><strong>Cheyenne Macrae, District Nine, Division One<strong>

* * *

><p>Stepping gently off of the chariot, my golden slippers pattering onto the floor, I watch as Rhett leaps off with a great grin on his face and starts sprinting for the elevators. I'm suddenly faced with a choice – follow him to the room or stay down here, where I could try and search for a friend?<p>

I'd rather _not_ make this decision.

In the end, I take too long deciding and Rhett's already smiling at me as the elevator doors close. My fingers wrap tightly around my sides as I hug myself, hoping that somebody comes along and strikes a conversation with me while I'm waiting. But then, again, who would want to make friends with the Reaped girl?

"Hi, there."

A voice from my side startles me, but I push the nervous feeling down. I carefully peer around the massive headdress I'm decked out in, only to see the friendly face of the young girl from District Two. Loren Faust.

"Hey," I croak out, a fierce blush crawling up my cheeks.

"I'm Loren, and you're Cheyenne, yeah?" She grins.

"That's me."

Loren chuckles. "Cool. Listen, I know this is a little quick, but before we head up, do you wanna talk for a little bit?" She gestures to her district partner, Conner, who's inquisitively watching a boy from District Nine and a boy from District Two. "My district partners are kind of boring, in my opinion. Nobody wants to chat."

"Sure," I say, quickly taking a seat on the step of my chariot. She quickly follows suit, her eyes twinkling. "What do we… what do we talk about?"

Loren shrugs. "Stuff." She leans in closer, and my breath hitches. "What's it like in District Nine? I've always wanted to know."

I lace my fingers together, boring a hole in the ground with my fierce stare. "Um… we plant grains. Wheat, mostly, but soybeans and such as well."

"Do you make bread?"

"There's bakeries," I say.

"Oh." Loren chuckles. "In that case, we're basically the same as you. We have bakeries, and some people even have gardens, but they're usually the richer families."

"Cool," I reply, my throat dry as a desert. My eyes glance from side to side, hoping that Loren will catch on that I really, really want to ally with her.

But she merely smiles at me, fluttering her long lashes, and waits for me to say something else.

"Um…" I stammer for a moment, rubbing my hands on the silky material of my jumpsuit. "How is life back in District Two?"

"Ah, it's fabulous," remarks Loren, stretching out casually. As she jabbers on about her life at home, my curiosity is perked, and I watch her in fascination as she goes on and on. I want to be like her, social and popular and uncaring of what others think. That's the vibration I'm getting from her, anyways.

"So, yeah, that's how I ended up here!"

I blink, hoping that I didn't space out too much and miss all of her little speech. "Oh, that's… nice," I finish up lamely.

Loren gives me a sarcastic little hoot.

"I-I'm being honest," I say, wringing my hands.

She shakes her head, making the precarious crown on her head shake as if it's about to topple off. "Nah, you're good, I just don't think that it's a really good reason… I mean, what, half the other kids here must have volunteered because of it."

"_Yeah_," I agree in the false hope that she'll think I was listening along.

"So don't think I'm basic or anything, okay?"

"Of course not." I offer her what I hope is a reassuring smile, but really, it's just a mask laced with desperation and hope. With any sort of luck, Loren overlooks this.

And she does. She mistakes it for a lesser, more shallow meaning, and throws her arm around me. "You're cool," she giggles. "Wanna be allies?"

My heart pounds. My underarms break out with sweat. _Of course I do!_ I want to scream, but instead, I nod softly and smile a little. "Yes," I answer. "I'd like that. A lot."

"Well, great, then," Loren beams, getting up from her sitting position. "Well, I don't want it to get too late. We have a big day tomorrow, don't we?"

_We'll have a big day for the rest of our time here,_ I think to myself. But, of course, I don't say that. I keep it bottled up and nod, giving her an encouraging little thumbs-up and standing stiffly as she embraces me.

I pop into an elevator with her, and the ride up to her floor is silent. She beams at me as she leaves, to which I offer her a tentative smile back.

When I come up to my own floor, Olivander and Roland greet me with huge smiles. Behind them, Rhett is curled up on the couch with a huge mug of something with whipped cream on it, and Deverra's on a loveseat, staring at some odds board on the television screen.

"How are you doing, Cheyenne?" Olivander says evenly, for once not stammering or quivering.

"Good," I squeak out, managing a smile before I scoot down the hall, to my assigned room. I find a pair of silky rose-colored pajamas already placed out on the cushy bed spread for me, dotted with big white polka dots. Wincing as the headdress catches on my hair, I pull the chariot outfit off and replace it with these cozy nightclothes.

I slide into bed immediately, without even brushing my teeth. I stare at the blackened ceiling with my heartbeat echoing in my ears.

I didn't want to be here. I never wanted to be here.

I just wanted to be at home. I could have been left there. I'm sure if the Capitol knew what I was like – a perfect law-following citizen – they would have let me stay there.

Passive, quiet, meek. I abide by the rules and never step a toe into a dangerous zone.

But now, do I really have a choice?

I turn over, feeling the soft pillowcase against my cheek. Against my will, a salty teardrop slips out of my eye and runs down the contours of my face, even after I screw my eyelids shut.

_No._

* * *

><p><strong>Saturninus Lynch, District Two, Division Three<strong>

* * *

><p>"I'm <em>hungry<em>."

Scowling at Kronos, who's quick to snicker and shrug, I move towards the giant silver fridge, thrusting open the doors and grabbing a select few items – a wheel of creamy white cheese, a couple of tins of _something_ that looks fantastic, a dish of brown pudding, and a jug of whole white milk. Content with my food, I grab a spoon and a fork and dig in.

"That sure looks yummy," comments Briana from where she's perched, nibbling on a banana.

"At least I'm not eating foods like one extra bite will poison me," I snark, mowing down on the pudding. "Worrying is boring."

"If people said to eat lots of food, I wouldn't want much, anyways," she says, tossing her hair. "I'm not one to stuff my face. I don't want to bulk up."

I roll my eyes. "Obviously, you must weigh thirty pounds."

"And you must weigh thirty tons." Briana smiles, taking another bite. "We're even."

I ignore her, instead opting to glance at Kronos while I dig into the cheese wheel. "Oh, hey, bud, so any big ideas for me tomorrow?"

"Me?"

"Yeah." I smirk. "You're my mentor, after all."

"Uh, yeah." Kronos scratches the back of his head and pinches a morsel of cheese from the wheel. "But first, let me run your ear about allies. Did you see any potential ones?"

"_Me_," Briana spits out from across the kitchen.

I ignore her once more. "Eira from Four seems pretty decent," I say. "Same with Deverra and Spirodon from Nine. They all seem pretty strong."

"Aha," Kronos cracks a smile. "But have you considered any of your district partners?" Briana practically basks in the glow of sudden pride.

I snicker. "Yeah…" I watch her beam. "…_Lynden_." Her face falls and she gobbles down the rest of her banana in remorse.

"Ah, she's very reliable," Kronos says. "Very responsible. A good choice, I might add."

"Are you my mentor or are you here to endorse Lynden?"

"Oh, please," he says, rolling his eyes and grabbing another small chunk of cheese. "Don't follow in my footsteps, I run into walls."

"But you won your Games."

"Haven't you ever heard of a thing called luck?" Kronos shakes his head, his pale eyes gazing off to somewhere that I most likely couldn't see. He seems too wise and deep for me, like some sort of scholar. _Meanwhile, I'm about as deep as a kiddie pool._ "Luck, drive, and a couple of sponsors."

"Maybe that's all I need, too." I wink.

Kronos wags a finger at me. "Then you gotta show the crowd what you're made of. Currently, they think you're just muscle and a pretty face. You need to show them what's behind that pretty face."

I wrinkle my nose, a sick feeling crawling over me. "Um, yeah, I'd rather not split open my head to the entire world. But I get what you're saying."

He smiles. "You're funny, Lynch. Capitolites like funny. They like a tribute who's relatable, who's real. And that's you."

"I can be real, too," calls Briana from the other side of the room.

Once again, she gets ignored. Kronos stares at me with hardened eyes. "Be yourself. I know that sounds sappy and tacky and something that a grandmother would say, but so be it. Don't put up a façade. That's tiring and overdone."

"…I'm not planning on it." I scrape the bottom of the pudding bowl with my spoon and stare down sadly to the empty void. "On any rate, I'm not much of an actor. I doubt I could hold myself for five minutes."

"I agree," my mentor chuckles. "See, Lynch, that's why people will like you. You're relatable. You're handsome. You're strong. What more could they need?"

I grin, shrugging and grabbing the cheese wheel with both hands, ripping off a fleshy hunk and raising it to my lips. "You're right, Kronos. Thanks a bunch."

"Anything." He smiles at me sadly. "It would be great if you could win, thanks. Maybe then I could be treated like I'm one of the others."

"If I could win, that would sure be great, too," Briana sing-songs from her chair.

For once, I reply to her, but with a cold glare and a bark. "Have fun ripping out somebody's spleen, _friend_!"

She leaves abruptly, to which I soon follow suit, stashing the rest of the cheese wheel under my shirt.

I prepare for bed, stripping down to a thin nightshirt and a pair of slim, baggy shorts. Climbing onto the window seat that overlooks a city street, I chew on the rest of my cheese wheel, silently admiring the pretty lights.

In the Capitol, everything is organized. Nothing is sporadic or out of place. There's no room for randomness. From the arrangement of the bluebell bouquet on my nightstand to the amount of buttons on the shirt I'm wearing, everything must be prim and proper and perfect.

I'm not perfect. I'm not an avid sinner, but I'm certainly no prophet, either. I'm not intelligent – at least, I don't think so. I'm not cut for anything but training. Maybe that's why I threw myself into it so much. It was finally something that I was good at.

…Nah, I'm just playing. It was totally because I _hated_ responsibilities. I hated the feeling that I had something to do with my life. I _like_ flying by the seat of my pants. It's a rush.

And that's why I tossed myself in here by choice. To escape the obligations I'd need to fulfill back in District Two.

Or maybe it was to meet a hot girl or two – hey, I'm _not_ picky.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Without Me by Eminem.**

**And so we have the first eight tributes! Sabryn, Conner, Adriana, Zane, Eira, Merchandise, Cheyenne, and Lynch.**

**Sorry for the little delay, but aaaay, two weeks isn't too bad, is it? :P Could be a month. Could be a year. Could be forever. After all, some infinities are larger than other infinities.**

**But, yeah, I'm digressing. A review would be much appreciated and, well, it helps me figure out stuff. You know? Maybe your tribute was mentioned here, maybe they weren't, maybe they got a POV, maybe they were highlighted. It all evens out in the end! :)**

**Oh, and happy Valentines Day! Hope you all had a _LOVELY_ day! ;)**

**Anyways. Questions!**

**Thoughts on each POV?**

**Chart?**

**Who are you looking forward to seeing?**

**Favorite part in this entire chapter?**


	6. Ready Aim Fire

.

_**We never quite thought we could lose it all.**_

* * *

><p><strong>Imani Veneur, District One, Division Three<strong>

* * *

><p>Sliding out of the cover of silky sheets, I bend over, quickly putting my long dark hair into a respectable ponytail. Glancing at myself once in a side mirror and nodding to my reflection curtly, I start to stride out to the kitchen.<p>

Nobody's here except for two silent Avoxes – I'm early, and that's the way I like it. Opening the silver fridge's massive doors, I lean in and pluck out an orange and a slice of bread, which I promptly slip into a toaster slot.

Once I'm munching on crunchy toast slathered with butter and the sweet wedges of oranges, somebody walks in, and I internally groan.

Sabryn, the little chick who strides around like she owns the place.

Well, I do too – but isn't there an expression to respect your elders?

"Morning, Imani," Sabryn says politely, pouring herself a glass of clear red juice. I notice her blond hair, messily knotted up into a bun, and her skin is pale from sleep.

"Hello. Nice _hair_," I reply back, testing the waters. Will she be bitter today?

But no, she merely ignores me, swishing the drink around in the cup before taking a sip. Slick move.

I retreat back to my room after I've crunched down the last bit of toast, observing that while I was gone, somebody came into my room and made my bed, fluffing my pillows and all, plus set out an outfit at the foot of the bed. It's nothing special, looks like a jumpsuit of sorts, but it's obviously not baggy. Its main color is black, with a stripe of white down the side.

Once I've cloaked myself in the jumpsuit and brushed my teeth and hair, I start striding into the kitchen when oh, out of nowhere, comes Domika, her pearly whites bared in the fakest smile I've ever seen.

"Imani, _honey_!"

"Domika, _babe_."

She chortles at my sarcasm, trying to embrace me before she takes on a serious air. "Alright, first day of training. I see that you're prepared."

"As much as I'll ever be," I say dryly.

Domika giggles and swats at my shoulder. "I know we talked about this yesterday, but I'll ask it again. Have you even thought about getting any allies?"

"Oh, yes, I've thought about it." I nod, my eyes grazing over her hopeful face for a second, before following it up with, "I'm going to be the leader of whatever alliance I choose."

Her face falls. "Oh, Imani."

"What?" I demand, slightly put off. She should be supporting me, not treating me like I'm five. I mean, I know I'm rude, and I know I'm blunt, but that's just part of my charm. And if she can't accept it, well, then that's _her_ problem.

"You just…" Domika huffs, leaning against the wall and shaking her head. "You don't march up to people and demand to be their leader."

"What, you think I'm that idiotic?" I retort. "Really, Domika, you don't know me at all."

"I know you well enough to know that you'll be defiant, and go whatever I say."

I roll my eyes and cross my arms. "Sure, call me defiant. I'll be your rebellious teen student, and when I win, you can say that you've changed me for the better, and you'll get all the praise and attention."

Domika gawps at me. "What…"

"I know that that's what will happen," I say coolly. "Don't think I haven't seen people of your sort before. Call me a jerk, but at least I know what's good for me."

With that rant off my chest, I push past her to the kitchen and shove another bread slice into the toaster. My district partners mill around, a couple opting to stare at me, others simply gazing into their breakfasts. I notice Peridot and Sabryn sitting close, their elbows bumping as they cut their food. Conner's a loner, while Merchandise and Lolita quietly talk to each other.

My toast pops up, and just as I snatch it up and start to slather some jam on it, in walks Sheen. The big cheese.

"Wakey, wakey," she belches loudly, giggling in its aftermath. She grabs a mug and shoves it at a small Avox. "Coffee me, please. Three creams."

As the servant scampers off to do her bidding, she treads from one tribute to the next, hugging or clapping us on the back. She whops me particularly hard, but I ignore the drunk old woman and hold my tongue, instead focusing on spreading the strawberry jam perfectly on the toast, creating a thin sheen that barely glosses over the surface.

"Big day ahead of y'all," she announces once she's done making her rounds. "All I have to say is to get on your suits so you aren't buck naked, and try not to mess up, really."

"We surely won't," Peridot assures her.

Sheen grins, revealing yellowed, crooked teeth. "Good, good. I want this district to have pride, not shame."

"And you're definitely flaunting that by not going to the dentist," Sabryn says sourly. Mentally, I applaud the girl, even if we were at each others' throats a while ago.

Sheen wags a finger at her trainee but keeps beaming as the Avox returns with a steaming mug of milky coffee. She slurps it loudly and once she's done, slams it down on the counter, hard enough to create a loud noise, but soft enough so it doesn't splinter. "I'm being honest. It makes or breaks you."

"You're preaching to the choir." I smile at the woman. "We know all this, Sheen. We aren't here for nothing."

"We are the cream of the crop," Sabryn backs me up.

The lady chuckles, ripping off a hunk of donut and splashing it in her coffee. "Be careful not to get cocky," she says. "That's gonna be your one weakness. You might be the best with a spear, but in the arena, it's all up to fate, and you can't control that."

As she strides out, I can only hear her words, resounding in my mind.

They're having a bigger impact than I would have thought she could make.

* * *

><p><strong>Rhett Valdez, District Nine, Division One<strong>

* * *

><p>The elevator is so <em>fun<em>.

I bounce lightly on my heels, grinning at Imogen as she stares placidly at me, eyelids at half mast and eyebrows raised slightly, and then at Deverra, who's glaring at me with her arms crossed. "Lighten up," I ruff at her, snickering when she blinks in confusion.

"You won't get any allies if you act that way," Deverra says.

"Hush, you," I reply, wrinkling my nose. "People have to suck it up and deal with my charm, ya dig?"

She rolls her eyes, gives me a flip of her thick blond hair. "Why not," she mutters to herself before saying a bit louder, "So you're saying that somebody wants to ally with a little kid who can't stop bouncing and smiling?"

"Plus, I got a great bod," I reply, gesturing to my wiry frame.

"Oh, good _God_," Deverra moans into her hands.

I snigger at her response. "Calm down, I was only joking."

The elevator doors open and she rolls her eyes at me, curling her lip before promptly flouncing out, no doubt another snarky reply on the tip of her tongue. But hey, she's gone and that's all that really matters.

I paint on a smile as I follow, Imogen silently following my footsteps.

The tributes whom are already down here - including the other three of my district partners – are gathered around a pedestal, on which bears a short, dark-skinned woman who, though her small stature is prominent, she carries herself with an air of regality, and that's awesome. I like little people who have big personalities. Just like me.

She's obviously at the end of a speech, so I muscle my way in front of Spiridon's thigh and watch her.

"This place will make you or break you – it is your final place to recognize where you stand in these Games."

Okay. Cool. Some words of advice that I'm only going to forget in two minutes. Nice. Sweet.

She gazes down at us tributes, lips peeling back into a grin. "I know you all are capable. Time to show us in particular, what you can do. Begin!"

Instead of running away like I would have expected, everybody kinda freezes up, moving slowly over to the weaponry stations as if held back. A few tributes, like Merchandise, Amalie, and Lolita, band together immediately, but others, such as Imogen, stay on their own.

I glance around at the bodies with a smile tugging on the corners of my lips, searching for anybody who could potentially be a friend.

I find the boy immediately.

He bounds over to me first, actually, hair flying and a grin stretching across his face. "Hey!" he shrieks in a loud, prepubescent voice. "I'm Ferric, Ferric Gauven! From District One!"

"Hi!" I crow back, eager to have met such a giddy guy. "Rhett Valdez, of District Nine. Nice to meet you, bud!"

Offering a wink, he leans in and starts jabbering away to me. "So, yeah, I was wondering if you'd want to train with me? It would be nice to have a friend, and I dunno, dude, maybe we could be an alliance sometime in the future, and, well. yeah!"

"Of course I'd like to train with you!" I reply, practically bursting from my joy. "Come on, let's go to the knives first!"

If we seem like we were too eager, we don't care. It's running in our blood, and Ferric's awesome so far – and I'm sure his blood is, too.

We arrive at a knife station quickly, being the only two tributes there. A trainer from behind the counter is quick to smile and ask us if we need any help, but Ferric quickly turns her down, and we both grab a knife each.

"Throwing knives are really easy," he comments as he slings one forward to a tanned dummy, landing it just into his torso before it unsticks and falls out. Shrugging and reaching for another, he tries again.

Meanwhile, I stare determinedly at my own dummy, placed ten to twelve feet in front of me, and cock my head slightly, trying to figure out the best angle to throw it. In the Games, this would be no problem – you throw, and hope for the best. But here, it is a wee bit trickier.

You need to aim. It preps you to get a high score, after all.

Biting my lip and squinting, I'm more than aware of Ferric's laughter from next to me. "You're taking this so seriously," he crows.

I frown for a moment, before realizing how silly I must look. I straighten my shoulders and lighten up, if even for a moment. "Yeah, I guess so," I snort. Gripping the knife, I turn to the dummy and hurl it forward, going blade over handle, and it collides with the dummy's chest, before promptly falling to the ground.

"All that preparation for nothing," Ferric mewls mournfully.

I shrug, reaching for another and staring at Ferric as he chortles, examining the high arches of his eyebrows and clefted dip of his lip. _Rad bone structure, _I think to myself, before snapping back to reality and forcing a laugh. "Yeah, I guess it was pretty stupid."

Ferric walks over to me and slings his arm around my neck, fake-choking me. I tense momentarily, but he doesn't notice, rather laughs eve more. "That's why you got me, right? To lighten up."

"Yeah," I reply, clawing at his arm. "The perfect ally."

Ally.

The very word tastes sweet on my lips.

And judging by the overjoyed look on Ferric's face, he's not too opposed, either.

* * *

><p><strong>Deverra Lisett, District Nine, Division Three<strong>

* * *

><p>As the trainer dismisses us to go to any station we wish, Spiridon immediately departs from me, that same sneer plastered across his face and his eyebrows knit. I watch him leave with a small sense of longing, but briskly berate myself for that. I don't need him. I can find somebody else worthy of my company.<p>

Striding to the nearest station – spears – I promptly run into the dark-haired, slim girl from One, the one nearest to my age. She's turning one of the weapons over in her hands, pursing her lips as she does so.

I clear my throat, stepping up to the plate. I can be the first to talk. Nothing wrong with that. "Hi. I'm Deverra."

She glances up at me, eyes wide and sparkling. Her lips quiver from their pose, and quickly drop into a frown. "District Nine, right?"

"You are," I reply.

Her top lip curls and she focuses her attention back on the spear. "I don't understand why they let your district into these Games."

I roll my eyes. "Are you kidding? We're the best. Our trainers are so skilled, and we're not half bad, either. I bet I could put you to shame."

She ignores the last bit and looks up again. "You have trainers?"

My composition falters slightly. "Well, we're trained by our victors," I say. "Roland and Olivander."

"Oh, them two?" The girl snickers. "_Please_, they're so old that one wrong swing could make their dentures fall out. In District One, we have actual trainers, and academies, too. We're where it's at."

"Where it's at?" I repeat, placing a hand on my hip. _Things are getting heated, huh?_ "Please, listen to yourself. You sound so cocky right now."

"Apparently District Nine breeds more than just weaklings," she spits out. "They breed snarky, ugly little prisses… just like _you_!" She jams the blunt end of the spear into the ground to accentuate her point, eyes blazing with energy.

Inhaling sharply to try and maintain some of the dignity that I've lost, I take on a calmer disposition. "Hey, look. Whatever your name is. I know-"

"Imani," she says curtly.

"Yeah, whatever. Imani." I try not to roll my eyes. "We might have come from different ends of the spectrum, but… hey, we're obviously the two alpha girls in this pool of tributes." I gesture across the room, silently glad that at the moment, two of the littler girls are strolling past. "Can you imagine how dangerous we'd be as a team, even if we aren't all buddy-buddy?"

Imani's eyes narrow. "I work fine on my own, thanks."

"And I do, too." I bite my lip. "But you know, two powerhouses combined makes one deadly mix. With our two abilities, me with my sickle and you with your – um, whatever it is you do…"

"I'm an archer," she says, tossing her sleek hair. She pauses briefly, eyes flickering around the room. "And Deverra? I do get what you're saying. The two of us… we could be _lethal_ together."

I smile triumphantly, almost ready to throw my arm around her before I realize how much I really dislike the girl, allies or not. "Awesome. So it's an alliance?"

Imani pauses again, gently running a hand through her hair. "I thought I made that clear."

I laugh lightly, nodding politely. "While we're joined together like some big fat happy family, do you think we should add anybody else?"

"Another powerhouse to add to the mix? Oooh, looks like the others are in for some _trouble_." Imani sneers at the unaware tributes, her sarcasm breaking through.

"That's exactly what I mean."

"That one muscled kid from Two looked pretty good, to be honest…" she frowns slightly, nodding her head to a station across the building. "But look. He has an alliance already."

Standing next to Saturninus Lynch, laughing at something he said as they compare axes, are the pale boy from Four, and the oldest female from Two. Leander and Lynden, are they?

"Nothing that I can't fix," I boast, striding over to the station and noting with satisfaction that Imani stumbles after me, struggling to keep up. "I wormed my way into an alliance with you, didn't I?"

"There's a difference. I _let_ you."

"Say what you will," I snort, tossing my hair and walking right up to the bulky boy, tapping him on the shoulder. "Hi!"

He turns around in surprise, blinking rapidly. I come just up to his shoulders, so I have to glance up a bit to make eye contact. "Oh, hey," he says in a deep, booming tone.

"I'm Deverra, and this is Imani," I say, gesturing to my dark-haired companion, who waves. "We'd like an alliance with you and your little group."

His face peels into a beam, and he swivels to meet Leander and Lynden. "Did you hear that, you two? We've already got more friend requests!"

Lynden walks up to me, not with an air of authority, but almost timidly. She introduces herself and Leander, before tilting her head and asking, "Just curious, why did you choose us, out of everybody?"

I smile, shrugging at her. No need to be rude here – she obviously isn't that much of a threat to my power. "You guys seemed pretty strong," I say. "Don't prove me wrong, please."

Meanwhile, Leander tugs at a lock of my hair, eyes wide and lips parted. "Your hair's so thick," he murmurs fervently.

"I try." Already I'm regretting this – how in hell did this pale, gawky guy earn a friendship with a burly man like Lynch? Come to think of it, Lynden doesn't look very strong, why is she here, too?

I guess if you want one, you have to take them all.

No worries. I can work with that.

Imani strikes up a conversation with Lynch, her eyes alert and sharp, while Lynden and Leander murmur to themselves in the backdrop. I can't help the stupid grin that starts creeping up my face, even if I try to conceal it. This alliance is mine, all mine for the taking. I can't _wait_ to see where I go with it.

It's something of my own. And I love that.

* * *

><p><strong>Spiridon Floros, District Nine, Division Three<strong>

* * *

><p>Slamming the claymore into the dummy's shoulder with a sense of completion, I smirk at the red shards that are quick to pour out. I like feeling like I'm making a difference – and I am. I'm making a difference in this mannequin's future!<p>

I snort at my own joke, getting ready to ambush a second one, before a small voice stops me.

"Hey!"

I stop shortly, swiveling to meet the source of the voice. I find it promptly, coming from the body of the short blond from Four.

"My name's Eira," she says briskly, offering her hand out. I take it, my own hand practically smothering hers. "Eira Valliere. I'm from District Four."

"Spiridon Floros of District Nine." I straighten my spine and offer a charming smile. "Cutting straight to the chase, are you here for an alliance?"

She blinks for a second, before disguising her surprise. "I suppose I am," she says. "And your answer?"

I size up the small girl for a second, taking in all her assets before replying. "Perhaps," I say, trying to hide a smirk. "You should show me what you've got."

Eira shrugs and motions for me to follow, and I do so – all the way to the spear section, where she promptly butters herself up for some intense tossing. I watch in mild fascination as she grabs one and slings it forward, hurtling it directly into the shoulder of a dummy.

"And I can do better than _that_," she announces eagerly, snatching another one up and throwing this one with her gut, lurching all the way forward with her entire body, following up with a circle of her arm as the spear plunges through the tan plastic, a confetti of crimson exploding in its aftermath.

I clap slowly, walking forward as she pants and watches me with wary eyes.

"Impressive," I say.

"Am I in?" asks Eira.

I pout, shrugging. "I'm not sure."

"How can you not be sure?" Eira's peppered up now, cheeks flushing as she straightens herself, chest thrust out and shoulders back. She's unconsciously making herself look better through her anger. _Good_. "Come on, Spiridon. I did what you asked."

Wagging my finger and raising my eyebrows, I respond, "_Now_ you're in."

Eira snorts. "You're strange."

Feeling the need to defend myself and back my tactics up, I tack on, "No, you weren't believing in yourself before that. That, and your posture was absolute crap."

She stares at me quietly for a moment. "Are you joking with me?" She asks in a low voice.

"No?"

"You're such a control freak…" Eira frowns, placing her hands on her hips. "God, Spiridon, when I asked to be allies with you, I sure didn't expect you to try and take over my methods of training…"

"But now we're allies." I throw her a smile. "Think of me as your own personal trainer, but closer to your age."

"What, did the aloof and mighty Spiridon train tributes back in Nine, and now he wants to spread his amazingness to others?" she scoffs. "Honestly, you're such a pain right now."

The smile drops right off my face and it's all I can do to not bark at her. "You know what? You approached me," I breathe at her, coming closer and closer to her upset, if not a bit annoyed, face.

"That was before I knew you were some obsessive control freak," Eira spits, flipping her silky blond hair. "I'm out."

But just as she leaves, another girl arrives, and apparently tugs her back to reality.

"Hi," she says, giggling and looping her arm around Eira's shoulder. "I'm Briana. Mind if I join you two, or do I need to pass some sort of initiation?"

Eira scowls blackly at me. "I'm fine, but you might need to go through hazing with that war general over there."

Briana snickers, offering me a wide-eyed look. "Certainly you won't make _me_ go through something like that, will you?"

I curl my lip slightly at her carefreeness, but quickly replace it with a hopefully charming appearance. "Just prove your worth and you could find yourself a slot in our alliance."

She gasps slightly, bouncing lightly on her feet. "Oh, I can do _that_," she says, rolling her eyes. "I'm not useless, why do you even think I volunteered? Just watch me."

With confidence rolling off her like water off a duck's feathers, she grabs a spear and, with a wink to me and a toss of her thick brown hair, she surges her arm forward, the weapon leaving it and landing into the tan dummy.

The exact thing that Eira just did.

"Congratulations," I say, nodding my head at the mannequin. "You got it once. Are you a one-trick pony?"

Briana gasps in mock horror, but I can tell that she's sort of offended. "I am most certainly not," she says, glaring. "Why else do you think I volunteered? This is the second time I'm asking, Spiridon, and I don't like to repeat myself."

I shrug, smirking airily. "I'm not asking your reasons, I just want to know if you're any good or not."

Eira taps Briana's shoulder and rolls her eyes, giving her a knowing look.

"Fine," Briana huffs. "I'll repeat myself. For you. Just because I want an alliance with you two."

Although her words are snippy, once again, there's a slight ring of truth to it. If she just wanted to ally with Eira, she would have grabbed her hand and stomped off. But no, she wanted me as an ally, too. She even said it. She seeks my leadership, and she'll make Eira see my light, too. We'll be a great alliance, just the three of us.

Soon enough.

* * *

><p><strong>Lolita Trancy, District One, Division One<strong>

* * *

><p>"Look how easy this is!"<p>

I stare.

Merchandise lunges forward with the axe, grinning manically as he does so, winking at Amalie as the axe is flung out of his hand. It's the fifth time he's done this, and the fifth time we've all stood here, watching him with the same bored expressions at his flamboyance.

"Nice job, Merch," I say tiredly.

"Excellent, really," Amalie echoes.

"Thank you!" Merchandise straightens his spine, smiles.

"Now can we please get some lunch?" I place one hand on my hip, the other caressing my long braid. I smile once Merchandise glances over to me, a charming little grin that's sure to convince him.

"Sure," he says flippantly. "I'm sure getting hungry."

He stoops slightly to take my hand, and then he links arms with Amalie, who's quick to blush blissfully. And we walk, as a sort of lopsided chain, to the cafeteria.

The buffet looks incredible. Several steaming silver dishes, containing probably scrumptious dishes and mysterious spreads, await and beseech us. I gasp in slight delight, my mouth already watering. I _love_ new experiences, and this isn't one I've seen before.

"I want to try everything," I say quietly.

Merchandise glances down at me, eyes sparkling with joy and lips quirked into a smile. "The world's your oyster, Lolita!" he says happily.

Grinning back at him, and Amalie, whose own eyes are widened with curiosity, I take a tray and shuffle into line, dishing out little portions of meats, vegetables, rice, rolls, and everything but the kitchen sink, basically. It slowly oozes towards each other until most of the foods touch, combining into one giant mural of nourishment.

_Delightful_.

Collecting a napkin, fork, spoon, and knife at the end, I slide onto a bench near a wall, waiting patiently until Merch and Amalie arrive with their own trays, before I dig in.

"This is all so good," Amalie says, sipping some pale, milky soup with eyes wide as oranges. "The Capitol's so good to the tributes."

"Makes you wonder why they let the other districts suffer," I comment, glancing down to a fluffy roll as I slowly butter it up. When I look back up, both Merch and Amalie are silent, mouths puckered as they stare at me. "What did I say?"

"I just don't think that that is something you bring up, Lolita," Merch says, heaving an incredibly forced laugh as he spears a chunk of beef. Bringing it up to his lips and glancing around as if afraid he's going to get caught saying something, he adds in a hushed tone, "But I, too, wonder why the Capitol lets that happen."

"Because they rebelled," Amalie utters quietly. She doesn't make eye contact with anybody. "We were the closest in ties to the Capitol, like the president said."

"That's why she let us into the Quarter Quell," I agree grimly. "Because our districts support the Capitol, in a way. We participate in these Games more than anybody else."

"It could go either way, though," Amalie says. "If you put more of the outlier districts in, boom, you're punishing them. But somehow, since they're putting more of _us_ into the Games, we're being rewarded." She's talking more right now than I've ever heard her talk. And that's coming from me, who's been raised to be seen, not heard.

"I like hearing your guys' comments on this," Merchandise says with a small smile, forking another beef slice. "Though, we probably shouldn't talk about this much anymore."

"You're right," Amalie harmonizes softly.

I stare at them with a sense of mild desperation rising in my mind. I _want_ to talk about the topics that everybody says are so off-limits. I _like_ making my voice be heard like this. It's where I'm happiest, really. Giving my opinion.

If I can't do just that, I feel… lost.

And maybe that was why I volunteered. To make my voice heard. To stand up for something, and for once, be acknowledged for it. I want to be well-known and recognizable to everybody, not just a couple people on my street and my peers. For all I know, they could view me as the strange girl who looks like a doll, that sometimes raises her hand in class.

And I _don't_ want to be that girl.

If my thin chance of winning brings me victory, then I can continue on my master plan. But for now, I have to be me. And currently, that me is sitting behind a tray of delectable edibles.

We all eat in silence for a while, occasionally coughing or smacking our lips, but generally staying quiet. That is, until we're _approached_.

The girl is slim, lithe, and has tanned skin with blond hair. Her lips curve upwards to greet us all, and she gently sets her tray down at the end of the table.

"Hi," she says, voice wavering. She tucks her hands in her pockets and blushes slightly. "I'm Adriana. Do you three think that maybe I could eat with you guys?"

Merchandise is the first to process this and speak. He leaps from his bench, ushering her next to him. "Where are my manners?! Really, I hope we look inviting. You're welcome to sit and eat with us, Adriana!"

He trails off when he notices the food on her tray. "Though you _might_ want to bulk up a bit more, if you know what I'm saying?"

The girl's tray contains barely any food, and the food that is there, is rabbit chow. It's a little stack of green beans, a grapefruit half, and a small pile of glossy brown seeds. Hardly enough food to sustain a tribute in training until the end of the day.

Adriana blushes even more, the red flush in her cheeks turning dark. "It's alright," she says softly, taking her seat. Merch slowly but surely follows.

Staring at the new arrival, not caring if I look like I'm ogling, my mind slowly forms a first impression.

And, contrary to what the gung ho Merchandise and beaming Amalie think about this chick. I'm _not_ happy.

* * *

><p><strong>Salton Matinee, District Four, Division One<strong>

* * *

><p>Slithering a spoon around the slimy gunk that was once apple-cherry pie, I scout everybody out.<p>

I'm content to be on my own – for now. Gives me time to make up thoughts and impressions about everybody, after all. I'll find an alliance, positively. I just… don't want one at the moment.

I was approached, sure. Zane Ackerman and Akio Kurama. While Zane stammered over the words, Akio was in the background, giggling, puffing up his cheeks to look like a chipmunk, and blowing raspberries with his tongue. Zane might have been fine on his own – I like when people show weaknesses – but paired with that buffoon, I definitely am _not_ up for that alliance.

Plus, who knows whether they'd take advantage of me or not?

Frowning into the pie crust and crimson mixture, I push my plate away and heave a small sigh.

"Salton, right?"

I look up in surprise, heart fluttering quickly, to see the youthful face of the youngest girl from Two, Loren. She and the Reaped girl stand in front of me, smiling and waving.

"Yes," I answer quickly, nodding once or twice before standing and shoving my hand out in front of me to shake hands. Loren pumps my fist with vigor, while the small Asian girl behind her tentatively offers hers up, making full eye contact with the ground as she does.

"Nice to meet you," Loren says with a wink. "I'm Loren Faust of District Two, and… Cheyenne, wanna introduce yourself?"

"I'm Cheyenne," the slim girl in back says softly, eyes lowered.

"She's from District Nine." Loren sighs, shaking her head. "Tough luck, really. Being the only Reaped tribute and all. But hey, it doesn't fade her sparkle!"

_Charming._

I make a move to walk away, picking up the edges of her tray and starting to scurry away from the random loon, but Loren's high voice quickly pulls me back in. "Did ya hear the rumor about Leander and Eira?"

Leander and Eira? My district partners? I _do_ love a bit of gossip.

I quickly place my tray back on the table, before realizing how rude I look – picking up my tray to leave, only to come back when I'm offered a juicy morsel of chatter – and quickly mutter out, "I'm gonna grab some more food, be right back," before making a quick getaway.

Slowly walking up to the line of tributes that have gone back for seconds and picking up another plate, I scoop out different portions of foods, silently thinking to myself. Do Loren and Cheyenne seem alright, aside from Loren's stupid way of talking? I've been so caught up in observing everybody, that I haven't stopped to think who I _really_ would want as an ally.

Spooning up some green bean casserole before retreating back to the table, I arrive just in time to hear the end of Loren's story. "And apparently, back in Leander's neighborhood, they were all curled up under the stars, snuggling on the beach! But, y'know, that's just what I heard."

"Wow," Cheyenne giggles slightly, her cheeks a flared shade of crimson.

I smile winsomely, placing my plate back onto the table and nodding to Loren. "AM I late?"

"Not at all, Salton!" she declares, throwing her arm around me. I reply by carefully looping my own arm around her shoulders. "Just in time to hear my story about Spiridon and Deverra!"

"As much as I'd love to hear that," I say, ducking out of her hold, "we really should be thinking about, um, other stuff."

"What do you mean?" Loren asks, while Cheyenne snaps her gaze to me.

"Well," I respond nervously, "for starters, why did you two approach me?"

Loren shrugs. "You seemed pretty cool. And you are."

"But did you want anything?" I probe, fishing around for that one answer.

"Eh. No."

"Nothing?" I ask, my hopes dashed suddenly – and just a couple minutes ago, I was ready to leave this girl for an empty table. And even Cheyenne looks sad, too.

"Not really. Maybe a lunch date." Loren shrugs, eyes glittering. "Why, did you want something?"

"_No_," I nearly shout, on the verge of growling, but then I quickly quiet down and repeat myself. "No. I don't want _anything_ from you."

"Not even an alliance?"

I look up to meet her eyes fully and realize that they're gleaming with withheld laughter. Within moments, I realize that I've been tricked, and I'm quick to groan and mash my forehead into my hands, listening only to Loren's howling laughter. "You so fell for that!" she cackles, pounding the table with a hand and making Cheyenne look rather frightened. "Of course we want an alliance, you dummy!"

I glower at her, not ready to say a word to this little poser.

She notices this, and coos at me accordingly. "Awh, did I ruin your pride," she chuckles in a moony tone. "Come on, Salton. Don't be such a wet blanket."

Not giving up the scowl, I cross my arms and try not to look into her huge eyes. If I do, I know I'll lose this argument. I know it…

Loren's cold little fingers wrench their way underneath my chin and force me to look up, and then I'm staring at her ice blue eyes, flecked with grey, and my mind has already made up its decision to forgive her.

Sometimes, seeing only the best in people has its disadvantages. Such is the case right now.

"Fine," I hiss, knowing that I'm not seeming very intimidating at the moment. I don't care. She wrecked my pride. "So do you want to be allies or what?"

"Of course I wanna be allies," Loren says, grinning. She wraps her hand around Cheyenne's and the two watch me, both pairs of eyes warm. "We'd like that a lot."

I can't help but smile back.

* * *

><p><strong>Lynden Avior, District Two, Division Three<strong>

* * *

><p>Leander and I watch Lynch as he jokes around with Imani and Deverra. The two girls exchange a certain look, eyes filled with some sort of malice, before turning back to Lynch and laughing loudly. Fakely.<p>

"They're so artificial," I grumble, half to myself, half to little Leander.

He looks up at me, face pale but his cheeks rosy from exerting strength. "It's sad," he says quietly in that high voice of his. "to know that at the end of the day, we'll have to deal with the mess that they're making."

I force a smile. "It's just who we are, I guess!"

Who we are.

I don't know why Leander and I clicked. As the trainer disbanded us to go out and start training, nearly everybody went for the weapons. Something made me stand back, and I flocked to the nearest survival station to get a rounded practice. Leander was there first, already tying a knot neatly, thanks to his experience back in Four.

Over sailor's knots and dog-eye ties we bonded. It didn't take long, really. We discussed our backstories and families. We talked about how strange it was here, and our reasons for volunteering. He was so open, and I was drawn to that. He's just a sweet little dreamy guy, after all. Kind of shy, but at the same time, moony.

Lynch came to us within minutes. He had shamed himself by trying archery, and that in itself was a train wreck. Cheeks burning and fingers fumbling, he tried out the ropes too, but soon asked that we go to some weapon station, and Leander and me agreed.

Well, once we were there – literally not even a minute after we had arrived to talk to the trainer – in came Imani and Deverra, already fired and pepped up and ready to do some convincing. They swayed us into an alliance. Their silver tongues made me believe that they were genuine – at first, anyways.

But it took until lunchtime for me to figure out how they ticked. Deverra and Imani were like opposing troops in a battle, each trying to outdo the other in an effort for the same goal. Lynch, merely a pawn. And me and Leander? We weren't anything. We weren't important enough to be pawns, and we were unimportant enough so that we weren't exactly invisible.

Like most of the time, I've been pushed aside. But I'm alright with that.

"Do you want to move to a survival station?" I whisper to Leander, curling my fingers around the knife handle, half-heartedly throwing it at a target. It misses by a long shot.

He looks relieved. Multiple knives litter the floor between him and his own red and white target. "Yes, please."

Together we stride across the concrete floor of the gymnasium, listening to multiple _thunks_ into targets and dummies and winded breaths of breathless tributes. Me and Leander, it wasn't like that. It was more of the clatters of weapons onto the ground, and frustrated sighs.

But never upset growls or shrieks like some tributes give off – no. I'm too calm for that, and Leander's living in la-la land half the time.

We arrive at an edible plants station – deserted, just like I thought it would be. Smiling down at Leander, we each take a seat on the counter and the trainer looks grateful to see us. We're obviously the only ones who've decided to venture to his station today, and we've been here _twice_.

"Katniss root."

"Duck-foot root."

"Lily pad."

We rattle off the various names of the plant with ease and finesse. Leander's words are a bit slurred and sleepy, but he still manages to nab them almost every time, and I do about as well.

"We're good at this," I say, smiling once more.

_Always_ smiling.

Just how I was always taught.

"Yeah," Leander says, mouth stretching into a huge yawn. He takes one look at a common dandelion before muffling another one and asking, "Can we go to the weaving section now?"

I chuckle. "Why not," I say, taking the lead as we traipse across to the abandoned weaving station.

"Lynden?!"

The frantic-sounding voice from above me makes my heart thump, but on the outside, I show nothing. Serenely, almost sleepily, I glance around, searching for the source of Lynch's voice.

And then, Leander jabs my elbow and snickers.

I stare up at Lynch, his muscled body caught in a trap of ropes, making him suspended like a fly caught in a spider's web. He wiggles and squirms to get free, yelping like a puppy who got its tail caught in a door.

"What happened?" I call up, striding over to the bottom of the trap and working at a knot. Leander follows suit.

"That little guy down there asked me if I could be his test subject!" Lynch roars, wriggling even more, resembling a mealworm in a block of food.

I glance to see Conner, smirking as he examines his work. Once he realizes I'm looking at him, probably with a dismayed look on my face, he quickly rushes to tug at one of the ropes in particular. Immediately, everything unfurls and Lynch tumbles to the mats below.

"_Sorry_ about that," he says, sneering at Lynch's heavy body. "Just needed to test out my trap."

"Why would you do that?" I ask, watching as Deverra and Imani snicker from a few stations over.

Conner stares at me, no fear evident in his clear brown eyes. Just pride, and surprisingly, offense. "Like I said, I just needed a test subject. I wanted to make sure my trap worked."

"Well, it did, and I _hope_ you're happy."

As Leander follows me to Lynch, who groans dramatically, one thought whirls through my head.

Everybody's a threat here, now. Conner's proved that – I admit, maybe I counted him out because of his age, or stature, or whatever. What if I'm in over my head? What if volunteering was a huge mistake? I was fine at home, I was happy. But what if I don't make it back in any form but a mangled corpse in a flower-laden coffin?

* * *

><p><strong>Peridot Midas, District One, Division Two<strong>

* * *

><p>Sabryn cackles to herself as she watches the dark-skinned guy fall from ten feet high. Figures on the ground next to him speak rapidly, and I recognize the long face of the young boy called Conner.<p>

"Little, brainy, dorky genius," she sniggers, obviously not complimenting the little boy.

I frown. "Don't be so rude. I feel bad for the guy."

"Really, Peridot?" she scoffs. "When I allied with you, I didn't know you were such a softie."

I glance at my reflection in the sword I'm working with and immediately go back for another look. Admiring my eye color, I murmur, "And I didn't know how much of a priss _you_ were."

Sabryn smirks, reaching for a different sword. "We're evenly matched, then."

"Most certainly," I agree, reaching up to stroke my nose, feeling the bone structure and how defined it is. _Who else has such high cheekbones, honestly? And this skin tone, wow._ Once I realize that Sabryn's giving me a very odd look, I rapidly straighten up. "I agreed with you. What's the problem?"

"You admire yourself way too much, Narcissus," she says off-handedly, going back and stretching her hands over her head, gripping the sword's handle in each.

_Nothing wrong with loving yourself and your body_, I ruminate, snaking up a hand to touch my face before even realizing what I'm doing and shoving it back down.

"Want to duel, Peridot?"

I glance over to Sabryn, see that she's put the sword back. "I'm in the mood for a fight," she says flippantly, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "It would be fencing, by the way. Want to?"

"Sure, as long as you aren't afraid of a little competition," I tease her good-naturedly. I don't miss the snarky eye roll.

She leads me to the fencing station, where a few scattered tributes face off with trainers. No one tribute is fighting another, so we'd be starting something new. Maybe we'll be noticed for being different. Maybe we'll even draw a crowd. Maybe people will root for me. _Who knows, that's the fun in mystery!_

"Two suits, please," Sabryn barks at the wiry trainer behind the counter. "And two of those fencing stick things. Sabres or whatever they are."

I step into the white suit, lightweight over the tight outfit that they've given me to train in. Contrary to the training suit, this one is slightly baggy, and thicker in material. _Darn, nobody can see my muscles now._ But at least it's relatively complimentary to my skin color.

Sliding the helmet over my head and blinking at the sudden change in light, I swivel to face Sabryn.

"Ready, Peridot?" she shouts.

"Whenever you're ready!" I smile kindly at her.

She lunges forward, her sabre flapping against the air. I suck in my stomach, moving out of the way, before quickly swinging my arm around, bringing my sabre weapon with me. She barely touches the blade before dropping to the ground, jutting out a foot that slams against my ankle.

Fumbling but not quite tripping and taking advantage of her position, I ram my own foot into her ribcage. She must barely feel a thing, thanks to the suit, because even though my own foot smarts with pain, she scrambles up with ease, panting.

Swinging her sabre around to meet my own and starting the long fight, we duck, kick, and throw the occasional punch. The trainers stand at the side, ready to rush in, just in case something nasty occurs. But even though Sabryn's bitterer than a lemon at times, she plays fair. And I respect that.

I have a lot of respect for people who resemble me, really.

Letting loose a quick yell, Sabryn charges me, her long legs rushing as she surges forward. I duck neatly to the side, nearly dropping my own weapon. But Sabryn is winded, and meanwhile, I'm only getting started.

I jut out my foot while holding my elbow, faking an injury.

She takes the perfect bait.

Lunging towards me and tripping herself on my foot, she collapses to the ground, a shriek rising from the depths of her throat. Her body on the ground, air knocked out of her lungs, she sits stupidly, blinking and wheezing a bit.

I reach a hand out. "Good game, Sabryn."

She takes it after a moment of staring at it, and offers a sheepish smile before it's completely wiped off her face. It was weird – for a moment, she could have been almost sweet. "Yeah," she says gruffly. "Good game."

I watch the back of her slim figure as she walks to the outskirts and starts taking off her helmet, just before I slide my own armor off. The air is refreshing to my hot skin, like how a tall glass of cold water is perfect relief on a summer's day. Once everything's off, I walk over to Sabryn, whose face is red from exertion.

"Uh, I think I want to take a break," she coughs.

"Really?" I consider this for a second, but remember that yes, she's not a robot and she needs to rest occasionally. "Alright, then."

She skitters over to a water fountain, and I take a seat on a bench near the spear station. From there, I sort of zone out, keeping my mind to myself. Wondering what I'll do when she comes back.

For once, I'll stay quiet, if she wants.

Just because I like Sabryn in particular. And even if we don't get along the best, I'll still protect her. Because no matter what, if you have an ally, a friend, a partner, you do anything for them. It's all or nothing.

Hopefully she feels the same way about me.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Ready Aim Fire by Imagine Dragons.**

**Hiiiiii. Hope y'all enjoyed this update. Sorry it's a little late, writers block, plus, I'm not the quickest updater to begin with, soooo ;o**

**Anyways, yeah, you saw the next 8 tributes, the next chapter will feature the last 8. So if your tribute hasn't been seen much here, then, well, just you wait for the next update, yeah?**

**Confirmed Alliances: Lynch+Leander+Lynden+Deverra+Imani, Cheyenne+Loren+Salton, Zane+Akio, Peridot+Sabryn, Rhett+Ferric, Eira+Briana+Spiridon, Amalie+Merchandise+Lolita+Adriana, Conner, Jaiden, Imogen.**

**Question time, then!**

**Thoughts on each POV?**

**Chart? **

**Favorite alliance? Why?**

**Least favorite alliance? Why?**


	7. Savages

.

_**Underneath it all, we're just savages, hidden behind shirts, ties, and marriages.**_

* * *

><p><strong>Leander Pelion, District Four, Division Two<strong>

* * *

><p>"There is legitimately nobody here!"<p>

I glance up, immediately seeing Lynden's beaming face popping up in the corner of my vision. Chuckling along and nodding, I reply, "They're too caught up in weapons. Everybody's neglecting the survival stations."

"That's where we'll beat them." Lynden reaches out to muss my hair affectionately, acting much older than seventeen years old. "It's good to have an ally who thinks just like me, really."

"And the same goes for you!" I say eagerly, offering up a wide beam. "You're so great."

"Awh, thank you, Leander."

We sit in comfortable silence for a little bit – she blending some berry mush together to create a dull red color, and I spreading the formula over my arm, combined with some damp mud – until she speaks up again. "Camouflage isn't really my thing. I could almost swear that these berries are poisonous, actually."

I grab one of the hard, tiny berries that she's been using and examine it, quickly going over it in my mind, and giving a hard little nod. "You're right. But only toxic if consumed. They're fine on skin."

"I don't feel comfortable," she giggles for a moment before rising to move to the sink. Scrambling to my feet, I follow her, and we wash our skin free of the berry juice. "Just a little OCD thing, you know?"

"Of course, I just want you to feel okay." For some reason, I feel protective over this girl – like she's younger than me instead of older. She almost reminds me of Colby back home – cautious and tentative, fun but careful. It's an endearing sort of thing, especially when there's my friend back home who she's the spitting image of.

"What do you say we –" She's cut off quickly by the speakers crackling before they announce out in a flat tone, "_Ten minutes left of training, tributes."_

"Guess we can't do much."

"We can go meet up with Lynch, Imani, and Deverra." Lynden's smile wavers. "See what's up, you know?"

I plaster on a smile for a moment, zoning out so it looks like I'm agreeing, instead of thinking. I don't like Imani. Nor Deverra. Lynch is alright – agreeable and bouncy, yet he's got more muscle on him than all of us combined. A bit shallow and maybe stupid, but he's affable. And he can protect us. That's all that we need in an ally, right?

"Most likely, it's Deverra flirting with Lynch while Imani hangs on his elbow, trying to get on his good side." It feels cruel to insult the two girls whilst they can't defend themselves, but they've shown _nothing_ redeeming to me besides being pretty little gossipers.

"You're right, most likely," Lynden says grimly, not even sparing a smile as we walk towards the trio. Unsurprisingly, like I'd predicted, Imani is hovering over Lynch, while Deverra is talking a mile a minute.

"Hey, guys!" Lynch booms, eyes flying to me and my friend. "Have a good training day, now didn't ya?"

"A very nice day…" I purse my lips slightly, watching as Deverra shoots me a sneer. "You all seem to be acquainted pretty nicely, too."

"Come and be more _social_, Leander," Imani spits out a coo that was obviously meant to be enticing, but instead sounds like the opposite. "We wouldn't have turned you away, would we have?"

"Never in a million years." Deverra frowns.

Lynch chuckles, giving me a hearty clap on the back. I nearly tumble forward, but maintain my composure and smile sheepishly. "Of course not, little buddy! You and Lynden are like family to me."

"That's nice to hear," Lynden says warmly, fiddling with the end of a short tendril of hair. "Always nice to have an alliance that follows the golden rule, right?"

I smile dreamily at Lynden's pretty voice, and then again, when Lynch's own deep one comes in to respond. "Most definitely."

"Are we doing anything else today?" Imani says snarkily, obviously not liking the limelight when it's not directed towards her. "Any last-minute training ideas we should follow?"

"None." Deverra cuts her off quickly, and the two exchange a glower.

"I think it would be best for everybody to head up, get a nice dinner, and have a good nights' sleep," advises Lynden, smiling kindly. "We all deserve it. It's been a long day."

"Thanks for the advice, Lynden." I turn to her and grin back. "I do love sleep!"

"I'll go up now." Deverra tosses her thick blond hair and strides away with confidence and vim. Imani is the next to go, not even offering up a farewell, and she too, enters an elevator and stares at us blankly as it rises.

"Lynch, shall we?"

"We shall, m'lady," Lynch is quick to joke, grabbing Lynden around her thin waist and pulling her to an elevator. I watch after them as they leave. I think I'm seeing the start of something, but I am not sure what it is.

Quickly realizing that I'm the last one standing, I rush to follow some other alliance – Zane and Akio – and slip into an elevator. They push and shove each other good-naturedly on their way up, until Akio leaves and Zane is left standing awkwardly in the corner.

Trotting out when the elevator hits the District Four floor, I'm immediately welcomed by the mentors, arranged at different spots in the spacious living room. Annie's sitting on a loveseat next to Calder, looking rather frail, but she manages to raise a hand and beam over to me.

And I go and sit over by her, ready to just sit in peace – I don't have to tell her about my day. I rather like the silence.

She seems kinda spacey, too.

* * *

><p><strong>Amalie Traselle, District Four, Division Three<strong>

* * *

><p>"This day's been so strange," chatters Merchandise as Adriana and Lolita stand off to the side, eyeballing each other up. "So surreal, really. We gained an ally, and solidified our unity!"<p>

I don't know half of what he's saying, so I just nod and kind of murmur in agreement.

I do know one thing, though – this day _has_ been strange. Surreal. It's felt like a dream, really – half the time, I was traipsing along after my younger allies, and the other half, Merchandise was forcing me to throw a harpoon or something, even though I'm barely strong enough to muster the strength to stab a knife.

"It has been a good day, though," I say gently.

Merch beams. "Oh, most definitely! Lolita, Adriana, don't you agree?"

The two, obviously in the middle of a heated chatter, quickly look up. They nod in unison, clearly not even hearing the question, and resort back to their argument.

My ally watches them with a twinkle in his eye and a sigh catching in his throat. He turns to me. "This is the dream team, Amalie," he says passionately.

"I can imagine," I reply softly, my feet slowly drifting me closer and closer to his beautiful eyes…

But, no. I can't think of him like this. Not when it's soon going to be just the two of us. I sigh, taking one longing look at his perfectly sculpted lips, and quickly back myself up with some talk. "Anyways, I think that today was perfect. We trained pretty well, and hey, tomorrow's another day to get our skills kicked out."

"And then is private training," Merch says. "Gonna show them Gamemakers who's the boss?"

I giggle, gently shoving his arm. "Of course I will," I retort, making some serious eye contact with his slight muscles. If I don't look at his pretty, pretty face, I can be more fun and less tongue-tied. "I'll get a twelve and that can back up your guys' puny scores."

From what I can tell from his tone of voice, Merch is making a pouty face. "You mean a three _isn't_ a good score?"

Chuckling again and watching his bicep muscles ripple under the fabric of the jumpsuit, I shake my head. "Aim for the stars, honey – a five might just be the best you can do."

"I'm sure little Lolita can get a ten if she tries," he jests, quickly striding over to his smaller district partner and giving her a hug from the back. She looks stricken at first before realizing who it is, then melting into his embrace. I narrow my eyes slightly, silently berating myself for being jealous of a fourteen-year-old. _Honestly, your parents raised you better than this! She is barely old enough to have a boyfriend, let alone somebody like Merch!_

There it goes again; my jealousy.

"Who are you calling weak?" Lolita jokes with Merchandise, her eyes flickering with a question.

His smile is suddenly tight, but he rapidly covers it up, crooking a finger towards the blushing Adriana. "I'm not one to _point fingers_," he cracks, "but signs _point_ to Adriana!"

She merely smiles, letting it all happen with a serene look on her face. And there, again, I'm jealous of a tween, for having her life more put-together than me. "Funny, funny," she replies calmly, raising a hand, "but let's see who's laughing when I prove you all wrong."

"Yeah, okay," Merchandise laughs, rolling his eyes. He notices me on the outskirts and pouts. "Hey, Amalie, want to talk with us? You're kind of quiet."

I give him a gentle smile and shrug. "You know, I think I might just go up to my floor. I'm getting pretty tired of standing."

"I'll go up, too, then," Adriana says, moving over to be by me. Her eyes flicker over Lolita and Merchandise mysteriously, and she offers a small wave before turning on her heel. I trail in her wake, smiling down at her bouncing ponytail.

Entering the elevator, she jabs the button for our floor, and we stand in utter silence until the doors slide open. From there, we glide in to see the mentors, Leander, and Eira, all arranged like a pretty set of dolls in a dollhouse parlor. Eira has a wooden smile, while Leander's is as natural as a rainfall.

"Nice to see you two came back in one piece," comments Nuke.

"We're allies!" I say cheerfully.

More than a couple of the mentors exchange looks, while Calder and Mysti are quick to clap. "Splendid!" Mysti cheers. "You two are going to be a perfect match!"

"Oh, we're not the only ones in the alliance," Adriana says.

Calder and Mysti frown in near-perfect unison, so I back little Adriana up. "Merchandise – er, Merch – Leighton and Lolita Trancy. They're both from One."

"Ah, I remember them… the guy with the spiky hair and the small Asian?" Calder tilts his head slightly.

'The very same."

"They're not too bad, then," Lana says, considerably livelier than she's been previously. She stares at me and drawls out, "Good impressions at the Reapings. What do they show in training, any promise?"

I frown. "Shouldn't you care more about Adriana and me, rather then our all-"

The elevator doors ping open and out strides Jaiden, head held high with elegance and a haughty look on his face. Nuke brightens considerably and pats the chair across from him, a gleeful grin prancing across his face.

And just like that, we're out of the spotlight. No matter how interested Calder looks at me, or how confused Mysti appears, we're outshined. By _Jaiden_, of all people, who walks around reciting poems and smells like a fish market.

Hushing up for a moment and taking a quiet seat on a small leather chair next to the gargantuan fireplace, I curl my legs up, resting my chin on my bony knees. Adriana follows suit, resting on the ground by Mysti's thin, pale legs.

Jaiden goes on and on about his day in training in detail, occasionally rhyming and smiling flippantly whenever he does, but I barely tune in to any details. I'm too busy thinking – of Lolita, or Adriana, of the things to come, and, of course, Merchandise…

* * *

><p><strong>Jaiden Castiel, District Four, Division Three<strong>

* * *

><p>"The swords were sleek, shining with pride. The lights, so vibrant, just like the frothing tide."<p>

Smiling with glee at my poem, I peer out from a fringe of hair to my small audience of my fellow district partners and mentors. Most of them look amused, like Annie or Calder. Others look downright bored, like Eira and Lana. Adriana's eyes are closed – perhaps she's comatose.

Closed. Comatose. Not quite a rhyme, but close enough, eh?

I watch Adriana closely – her smooth cheeks, barely slightly flushed from her day of exertion, and my lips quirk up into a small smile. She's pretty with her eyes close. Not pretty in a creepy way, oh no – I've never really been interested in _people_ as mates. But I do think her eyes are appealing to look at.

Before I know it, my time in the limelight is up, soon replaced by Salton, the last to join us. As soon as he strides through the doors, without even asking whether he can talk or not, he throws his hands up joyfully and beams widely, jabbering a mile a minute about his two new allies.

Loren and Cheyenne? The two young girls, both vulnerable and meek? Interesting. I wonder if he is genuine, or planning to take advantage of them.

I don't have any allies yet. I wonder if anybody will approach me and ask for my hand in friendship like the other kids have. A friend _would_ be nice.

I haven't really had any friends before.

Well, there were a couple. But I scared them off. They thought I was a psychotic insane guy, and they wanted no part of the boy who fantasized about drowning.

But really, who doesn't think about death? I know I do, probably more so than most. Ever since my experience, when my heart thumped and I could quite literally taste death's sweetened taste on my tongue.

The water swirling around me, pounding and screaming in my ears, and even through that all, I had nothing to fear.

A rush of ice water flooded my lungs, and a word of prayer rolled off my tongue. Enveloped by the ocean, I felt my muscles seize, I sank ever deeper and my bones began to freeze. My eyes closed tightly as I wept and I wallowed, and I reached inside for strength, but my chest, oh, so hollow… My cries were silenced by the waves against me.

I no longer struggled.

My home was that cold sea.

And, I have to admit, I _liked_ the cacophony.

"Jaiden?"

I glance up quickly to see Mysti, trailing behind the others as they file into the kitchen. An uncertain smile wavers on her thin pink lips. "Do you want any dinner, or are you fine with resting in here?"

"No, no, dinner is just alright with me." I nod briskly. "Give me a moment, don't start any controversy."

She stifles a little whinny, like a horse's neigh, and strides through the doorway.

Staring after her for a moment, my lips forming silent words that might seem, to other human ears, absurd, I knot my fingers together and follow.

A spread, vaster than the highest seas, piled high with food that would soon be part of me. I smiled like a cat ready to pounce on a canary, sliding into a chair next to young Salton and tying a cloth napkin around my throat.

"Shall we begin?" Salton asks politely.

Amalie snorts girlishly across from me. "Of course we can, silly! I've been eyeing up those barbecued ribs for ages now!"

In unison, everybody reaches forward for the platter in front of them. I consult the golden fried fish in front of me, glistening with oil, and carefully spear a large fillet with my fork before shaking it lightly to topple down to my own plate. I then slide the plate to the left, as seems to be common courtesy in this strange new estate.

Salton passes me a white platter stocked with shish-kabobs of varying vegetables, fruits, and meats, and I take two. Before I know it, my plate has almost everything that the table has to offer, plus my cup is filled to the brim with icy, frothy, sweet white milk. Delicious.

"Thank Panem," breathes Eira from my other side, her eyes gazing over her own foods. She unsheathes her fork from the cloth blue napkin and immediately digs into butter-glossed mashed potatoes, closing her eyes in delight.

Meanwhile, Salton's already arranged his steak into smaller portions, and his vegetables, a meager serving, I might add, are pushed to the side. A perfect platter for such a youthful, innocent boy. He notices me staring at him intently, and I can almost swear, there's a sudden, unfriendly chill in the air.

"Something wrong, chap?"

Salton shakes his head, eyebrows thickening into a furrowed brow as he stares at me. "Nothing," he says quietly, stabbing a steak chunk.

I press him, leaning close and inhaling silently. "There must be something wrong," I breathe. "You stared too long. Take a picture, maybe? It-"

"It will last longer," Salton finishes, his expression completely and utterly confused. "Leave me alone, okay, man? Please? I just want to eat some supper."

And so I do back off, but I don't restrain myself from watching Salton. Carefully, carefully, I stare, never giving up the ghost. Seconds melt into minutes, and I watch him, and he must be aware of my gaze, but he never lets on.

A strong-minded boy. I like that.

The type of boy I wanted to be, back in my youth. That was my dream, and it was a simple one.

Now I have a dream, but it's a lot more messed up than wanting to have confidence.

I want to _drown_.

* * *

><p><strong>Briana Valleri, District Two, Division Two<strong>

* * *

><p>"Dinner is so delicious," I moan, shoveling another forkful of vinegary greens into my mouth, not caring if I look like a slob. I mean, why do I care what my district partners think? I'm not allied with them. "I love this salad."<p>

Lynch, from across the table, snorts as he stares down into his macaroni. "I knew you ate nothing but rabbit food," he gruffs.

I ignore the boy, instead turning to Slate, on my side, and saying, "How's your soup?"

He smiles kindly down at me. "Very cheesy, thank you," he says, holding up a spoonful of the steaming orange stuff. "I take it your salad's good."

"I'm _soooo_ full, though," I huff, folding my arms over my belly, still damp from sweat from training earlier, and I exhale. "Today took a lot out of me, but I'm glad that I got all this food to refresh me."

"Yes, food does that," Conner says sarcastically, delicately cutting off another wedge of his grilled chicken. I scowl over at the little boy, who offers me nothing but a snarky smirk.

"People need to learn when to keep their mouths shut," I grumble quietly, but of course, Lynch has to hear me, and he busts in with, "Such as yourself?"

"You hush up," I growl. "I'm talking about certain littler tributes."

"At least I'm making a difference in the training center!" Conner argues loudly, nearly yelling. His forehead is glossy with perspiration – maybe that little shout gave him a workout. "Trapping Lynch and snaring the rabbits without bending a finger. You, meanwhile, were either laughing with Eira or throwing yourself at Spiridon!"

My cheeks flare up, and I can't believe I'm letting this little bugger get to me. "Yeah, well at least I'm not ugly," I shoot back, knowing that it won't do me any good to deny him.

Conner sits back in his chair, smirking even more, satisfied at the answer. "Whether or not I am ugly, it's your own fault if you get a low score in training. I fully intend to show off all my-"

"Put away the dictionary, short stack," I hiss.

He shakes his head. "I'm appalled by the lack of dignity you girls have," he says in a cruel voice. He turns to Loren, who's innocently gnawing away on a corn cob next to him. "Allying with the Reaped and the most handsome boy you could get. And you, Lynden…" Conner trails off, frowning, but quickly folds his hands together and shakes his head again, muttering to himself.

"No need to get testy, Conner," Helios says disapprovingly, lips twisted in a frown.

Conner starts to say something back, but I shake my head at _him_, pushing my chair away from the table. "I'm going to the living room, who's with me?"

"I'm game," says Lynden agreeably, smiling as she rises to join me. Akio starts to hop up from his chair to follow her, but the laces of his boots quickly get caught underneath his chair, and he tumbles to the ground, bringing the chair on top of him. Lynden coos in concern, immediately flying to his side, but I merely stifle a laugh and watch him, flailing madly like a turtle caught on its back.

He lets out a loud squawk and I can't help it, and I don't care if it's mean – I do start laughing.

Lynden, however, glares furiously at me as she undoes the knots in his laces. "How dare you laugh at him," she hisses quietly. "He's caught, and you're making fun of him."

"It's funny, though," I giggle, but she doesn't quit glowering at me. As people crowd around Akio to swoon over him in his injured state, I'm left out of the picture, and craving the spotlight once more.

But it's over.

I huff angrily, flouncing away from the scene and into my bedroom, where I promptly slam the door behind me and move to my private bathroom. Glaring at my reflection in the full-length mirror, I begin to strip myself of my training jumpsuit, leaving on only a black tank top and a tight pair of shorts.

After rifling through the closet and finding a respectable lavender-colored romper and slipping it on over myself – skin still raw from being plucked like a chicken by my prep team – I venture back to the bathroom, turning back to my reflection once more.

I don't scowl like I did previously. I smile, a little at first, and then more. I notice how my lips dip into a sharp cleft when I'm not making any faces at all, but that cleft quickly forms a U-shape when I smile. My eyes, cobalt in color, are flecked with green.

It's funny how you don't realize little things about yourself when you're caught up in somebody else.

Stanley, for example.

His name coming into my mind for the first time since I left Two, I can't help but shudder at the impact that the one word has. I turn and stride to my bed, curling up on top of the covers and resting my head on the headboard, wrapping my arms around my smooth legs.

Stanley was my world. He was my everything. He was… my boyfriend.

And I left him.

When he screamed my name at the Reaping, I had half a mind to turn back, to let the other girls battle it out in their animalistic ways. But, no. I don't play by his rules – I don't play by anybody's rules. I ran to the stage, adrenaline pumping through my veins like a drug, and I spat my name out with pride.

Am I proud of what I was, back then?

It was two days ago. I still remember it vividly, in such detail and emphasis.

Maybe I should ask myself an easier question.

Do I miss Stanley? Yes, I do, with every fiber of my being. I might not play by the rules, but he was the closest I've come to for bending that one thing about myself.

I will come back to Two, though. That's the promise I made to him.

And I will get him out of jail, if it's the last thing I do.

* * *

><p><strong>Ferric Gauven, District One, Division One<strong>

* * *

><p>"What to do with you two?" Lincoln, my mentor, leans against the stone wall that surrounds the fireplace, tapping her blue pen against her pillowy lips. "You won't get along, in my opinion, you don't have allies in common, and you two are as different as night and day."<p>

Peridot, resting regally in the leather chair next to me, flickers his gaze to her, his sculpted lips frowning. "We're fine, I think."

"Definitely," I chirp, resting against the arm of the sofa. "I can get along with Peridot. He's a cool guy."

He smiles over at me, his cool and hardhearted mood gone. "Aw, mutual feelings, little buddy!"

We both turn to Lincoln, grinning with smiles sunnier than the brightest dawn.

See, I like it here. I may be the youngest in all the pools of tributes, but there's a difference between age and maturity. Though I may be small, I can get on with people like Peridot easily. As long as _they're_ open, accepting, chipper, I can work with them.

"Do you two want to talk about your days, if you can get on so well?" Lincoln asks, lips curling into a small frown, her permanent glare unfading.

"I, for one, had a lovely training day," I burst in with a grin. "I found an ally, even – Rhett Valdez of District Nine, and we're having a wonderful affair."

"That sounds so wrong," Lincoln grumbles.

"Fine, then." I wave my hand dismissively. "It's a great time, just the two of us, if you're picking up what I'm putting down."

"Peridot!" she nearly yells, obviously trying to avoid my subtle innuendos. "What about _your_ day?!"

"Well," he says carefully, "you know I'm allied with Sabryn, and that's the only ally that I intend to have. We just took it slow today, fenced a bit, and yeah, generally honed our skills. We're not incompetent or anything."

Lincoln beams triumphantly, gesturing to the blond boy like he's some sort of model. "See, Ferric? This is what you should aim for. Don't be silly."

"Pardon me for speaking my mind," I joke, trying not to let the hurt show on my face. But I do hush up for a moment, reigning myself in.

I'll admit, it's hard to quiet down. I've always been the stereotypical kid who just won't shut up, and I like it that way. It usually brings a smile to people's faces, and I've made many a friend as a result of it. But some people, clearly, are annoyed by this aspect of me, my own mentor being one.

"Oh, look, the rankings are on!"

Pelly's excited voice breaks through the quiet murmurings of mentors and their tributes, and everybody's gaze collectively snaps to the large television screen. Rows and rows of names and small numbers roll across the screen, and I manage to scope out my own name, throughout twenty-three others.

_Ferric Gauven, District One, Division One. Predicted Placement: 23rd._

My heartbeat is suddenly sporadic and misplaced. Sweat breaks out on my palms and I blink, watching the screen blankly and wiping my hands on my trousers. The Capitol predicts me to be twenty-third? And as it appears, the only one they think will die before me is that little Reaped girl.

They really have no faith in me?

My heart sinks as Peridot crows over his own predicted placement – sixth – and tries to give me a high-five. I limply slap his outstretched hand, nodding meekly as he goes around the room, congratulating everybody.

I act like this kind of stuff doesn't phase me. Inside, it drives me crazy, eating at my very soul.

Frowning and shaking my head, I stand up. I can't let this get to me. I need to keep a happy outlook, boost somebody else up. And in return? Maybe I'll get a little satisfaction back.

"Good job, Peridot!" I holler across the room, and he hears me, offering the biggest smile I've ever seen on him.

"Congratulations to you, too, Ferric!" he shouts, obviously unaware of the crummy prediction that I received. His grin is wide, unfading, and our other district partners who placed high are also whooping it up obliviously.

Lolita, from across the room, casually sits by me, placing a small, cold palm on my shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," I say automatically, giving her a grin.

"You don't seem alright." She frowns. "Is it because of your Capitol prediction?"

I heave a sigh, and Lolita wraps her bony arms around my shoulders. "Don't worry, Ferric. I was predicted twenty-first, if it makes you feel any better."

Smiling slightly at her attempt to cheer me up, I embrace her back. "A little bit, I guess. Maybe I was just hoping for too much. I mean, I am young, I guess I might as well be predicted dead last. I shouldn't let it get me down."

Lolita's smile is soft and miserable, even though her eyes are warm. "Exactly. It means absolutely nothing, Ferric. You could prove them all wrong – I certainly intend to."

"You go and do you, Lolita." I rub her shoulder gently, supportively. "I have a feeling that you'll do just that."

Her expression, though kind, is distant and somewhat blank. "If I weren't allies with Merch, Amalie, and Adriana… Ferric, you would have been my first choice."

"The same to you, Lolita." I gaze adoringly at my fellow district partner. "The same to you."

* * *

><p><strong>Loren Faust, District Two, Division One<strong>

* * *

><p>"Be right back, Lance!"<p>

Skittering down the hall, smiling in the aftermath of Lance's joke, I close the door behind me. Humming as I open my closet, I sift through the rows and rows of different clothes until I find a section of pajamas, where I immediately find a navy nightshirt to my liking.

Sliding the shirt on over my black leggings and tying my hair up into a tight little bun, I quickly slide back to the hallway, grinning as I see my mentor, looking rather sleepy.

"Hi!"

"Hey, Loren." He smiles meekly.

I follow him to the large outdoor balcony, leaving the quiet living room behind me. Taking a seat on one of the deck chairs, propping my feet up on a wooden table, I sigh contentedly, gazing up at the inky night sky.

"The Capitol looks so beautiful at night," Lance comments. "Hard to believe what these people do…"

"I know," I sigh. "I mean, I'm not really one to talk, because I volunteered and all, but-"

"Why did you volunteer?" Lance interjects. When I turn to face him, no doubt wearing a confused expression, he quickly follows up with, "I mean, if you want to tell me. I'm your mentor. I'm bound to be curious. You just… don't seem the type, if you know what I'm saying."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, most of Two's volunteers are burly and mean and rude. Also, possibly insane." Lance shrugs. "You're not like that at all. You're sweet and kind. And I want to know why."

I tap my finger against my lips playfully, thinking. "My parents, mainly. I know it's cliché, half the tributes in Two are training because of their parents, but… mine never really expected me to volunteer, I think."

Lance frowns. "I'm a bit lost. Help me?"

"Okay, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a _bit_ complicated." I stifle a small giggle. "So, to begin, I should let you know that they're actually really supportive of me."

"Yeah, I get that much. Tell me why you volunteered."

"I wanted to train ever since I was six. My father loved the idea. He'd always wanted a victor – he is just a tad bit selfish, and he never got to carry out his own Games dream, and hey, I was the perfect candidate for it, wasn't I?"

"Of course." Lance smiles softly. "So that's why – you wanted to please them?"

"No, it wasn't my choice, either." I sigh. "It was the academy – I was the best trainee that they've got for my age group. They… they bribed me. My family."

"But the risk, Loren!" Lance's smile melts into a worried frown.

"I don't know why I did," I sigh heatedly, turning my head away from him.

And yet, in all truth, I know exactly why I did. I'm obedient, too obedient. I couldn't stand letting the academy down, not when I'm the best shot they've got. They said they asked nobody else. I wanted to please them.

And so, I said yes.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. I know. I just… didn't want them to be let down. Not when I could be the cause of their happiness.

In a way, I'm like those service dogs that the disabled in our district have. The ones with the colorful vests and salivating tongues, that can do simple tasks for their owners, the ones who can't even press a light switch or open a door. I've seen them, multiple times, with their blank expressions and muted whimpers. They're trapped. They did too well, and they paid the price – being a slave until their days end.

Yeah, that pretty much sums up my experience here.

"But it's not like I'm gonna let a reason get me down, yeah?" I try a smile. "Come on, Lance. It's been a kind of cool time so far. I've met good people. You, Cheyenne, Salton, and all of my district partners, plus I got to try all this cool food and stuff!"

"You are right…" Lance gently nibbles on his lip. "Humph. I guess I'm just sort of let down… I mean, you could have excelled back in the district, then volunteered right when you were in your prime…"

I giggle. "Who's to say that I'm not in my prime right now?" I stand up from my chair and twirl around a little, letting my loose hair swish neatly around my shoulders. "Maybe I'd have died young back in the district – at least, here, if I die, it's justified."

"You use big words for such a little girl," Lance sighs.

Another laugh escapes me. "Well, hey, my parents did say I was mature." I stop spinning and gingerly take a seat on the chair, admiring the spinning sky, dappled with beaming stars. "And I was number one in my division of training."

"So, in a way…" Lance pauses. "You _did_ ask for this."

"Not up-front about it, but, well, yeah." I slump against the chair, letting my eyelids flutter shut. "Can we please talk about something else now?"

"Sure. How about your alliance?"

Any fallen vigor in me immediately sparks back up, white-hot and eager. I nod quickly, grinning like a fool. "Cheyenne is so sweet! And Salton's so cute, too!"

"Don't get attached to them," my white-haired mentor warns, his face shadowed by a dim light that's attached to the top of the balcony doorframe. His face looks hollow, like he's a character in a ghost story or something. "I don't want you to get hurt."

Frowning, I reply, "Well, too late. I'm already attached. Come on, Lance, don't you think I can take it? I mean, yeah, I know that if I'm gonna win, everybody else – even Salton and Cheyenne – are dying, but… for now, I mean…"

Lance shakes his head, looking much younger than he is. "Loren…"

"I mean, honestly!" I stand up, glaring at him. He stares back up at me with a slightly marred expression, but I continue, defiant blood coursing through my veins. "I know what I can take, and what I can't – you don't. You met me a couple of days ago."

"But Loren, I'm your m-"

"You're my mentor, yeah, yeah, yeah." I fake a gag and place my hands on my hips, shaking my head. "I don't know why I'm acting up, but this is making me real mad, and I think I'm just gonna go to bed right now."

"Probably a good idea." Lance's face is unreadable.

I storm away, flouncing off with as much dignity as I can muster up, but still feeling the need to be polite. After all, it's not like he has done something to truly offend me. "Good night, Lance."

"Good night, Loren."

* * *

><p><strong>Akio Kurama, District Two, Division Two<strong>

* * *

><p>It's glossy, cream-colored, absolutely dripping in rainbow magnificence. Its color is brighter than the most glorious of something heavenly – like a ruby shining in a cave of dull coal. Gingerly, I dip the tool into the softness and bring it upwards.<p>

Ice cream.

Vanilla ice cream.

I shovel it into my mouth, tasting the sweet coldness flow over my tongue, before quickly thrusting the spoon back into the mound of dessert and swiping up another spoonful. It's delicious.

Hestia's eye twitches. "When you're done making out with that ice cream, please talk to me."

Moaning slightly, I go back for another spoonful. "Yeah, I'm sorry, this is just too good to pass up."

"Ice cream?"

"District Two was all about the vegetables," I growl. "Health food. They trained us to be people with no sweet teeth."

"I know." Hestia smiles. "I lived there. Still do, actually."

I roll my eyes, pushing around some melted ice cream with my spoon. "Yeah, well, sue me for appreciating the fine dining that this place has to offer."

Hestia leans in a little, bending her head to the side in a little tilt. "You're more mature than I put you for," she says.

Shrugging and smiling to myself, I wave my spoon in the air. "Hey, I might seem a wee bit annoying at first, but I promise I'm better than that."

"Does Zane mind?"

The mention of my ally makes my ears perk up, my heart flutter. "Zane? He likes me enough. I mean, I'm the one who approached him, but… you know, we're close. We're _pals_."

"Should certainly hope so." Hestia smiles. "A trustworthy ally surely is a welcome addition to the Games."

"Most definitely," I say, smiling.

She gets a dreamy look in her eye and begins to go off on some tale about her allies in her arena, how even when the waves started dissolving the hills, they stuck together, and how she didn't give up when the going got rough, and I sort of zone out, head leaning forward, forehead clasped in my hands.

The arena's gonna be so much fun – like one giant jungle gym, almost. I think I might have a good shot at winning – I _know_ I have a good shot at winning. I can do this, as long as I keep a clear head.

Right – like that's gonna happen.

My mind has always been jumbled, like a tangle of yarn. I've always been able to overcome it, though, and get through to what really matters. And, well, at the moment, the only thing I need to accomplish is victory.

I do believe I can do it. And obviously, Hestia believes in me, too.

Running a hand through my unruly black hair and depositing my dish at the sink, still containing traces of milky ice cream, I soon wander back to the living room, where a couple of my district partners are gathered, chattering. Lynch and Lynden are having some heated argument, while Conner and Briana are insulting each other. _Fun_.

Wonder where I can fit in here.

I sidle up next to Briana, half-listening to her conversation with Conner over her alliance, and start admiring her glossy brown hair. It isn't long before she feels my gaze on her and whirls around, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Pardon me for asking, but were you _sniffing_ my _hair_?"

My own eyes widen in innocence. "Me?" I sputter out, playing the unjustly accused. "No, never!"

From behind Briana, Conner frowns slightly at me, his chocolate eyes deep in thought. "I thought I saw his nostrils flare," he murmurs gently, his words a lot more meaningful than his stupid soft tone of voice.

"Okay, calm down, I wasn't sniffing your hair." _Would probably smell like a landfill, anyways, considering what type of person you are._ "You're making a mountain out of a molehill."

"I'll take your word for it," Briana huffs, turning back around to Conner, her miffed expression never giving up. Shrugging, I lean back on the couch, casually crossing my legs and arms and silently observing everybody.

It's not long before little Loren comes rushing into the room from the balcony, eyes misted over with tears and cheeks flushed red.

"Hi," she says to me, plopping herself down on the seat next to me, quickly getting consumed by multiple cushions. "How are _you_ doing?"

I'm not stupid. She sure sounds sarcastically snarky right now.

"I'm doing alright," I say cautiously, suddenly getting the _bright_ idea into my head to cheer up the little girl. "Hey, do you like _clowns_?!"

"What," she deadpans.

Leaping out of my chair, a goofy grin plastered onto my chin, I swoop down to pick up three little golden balls from the coffee table centerpiece of sparkling ornaments, and before Loren knows what's happening, I'm juggling, chuckling like a maniac as the balls are thrown ever-so-delicately into the air.

Well… until they come crashing down and splintering into multiple shards.

Hissing in pain as some of the shards touch upon my foot, I gingerly hop onto the coffee table, but oh, what a calamity _that_ causes, too! I knock over the ornamental centerpiece, spilling over even more glittering balls onto the ground. They sure don't bounce well.

Lynden gasps softly as the mentors rush into the room, faces set with seriousness. Lance looks almost amused, while all Hestia can give me is a stony glare, pursing her lips and shaking her head in disappointment.

I've messed up, like I always do.

Hanging my head, biting my lip to try and combat the pain of the shards in my feet, I slowly tread to my bedroom, feeling everybody's eyes on me. Where I can be alone.

Where I won't mess anything up.

* * *

><p><strong>Imogen Khareen, District Nine, Division Two<strong>

* * *

><p>Zane smiles at me.<p>

Shifting uncomfortably in my seat, nodding very curtly at him, I try and look away from his warm eyes, his awkward little grin.

"Imogen?"

"Yeah?" I say coldly. I don't want to get into a conversation with him.

Smile wiped completely off his face, Zane leans in closely to me. "Is something wrong?" he mutters. "Roland and Olivander made this exercise so that-"

"We could get to know each other better," I say bluntly, cutting him off. I nod slowly. "I remember, Zane. I was there. I'm not deaf."

He frowns. "You don't have to be so rude," he huffs.

_Yes, I do. I can't let you see the real me._

But instead of saying how I really feel, I shove those feelings back down, forming a hard little ring of hurt somewhere in my gut. "Yeah, well, if you don't like it, then I'm sorry for you," I snark.

Zane sighs slowly and leans back in his chair, eyes wandering to the other two couples around the room. Rhett's stroking nervous Cheyenne's hair, and Spiridon and Deverra are pretty cool to each other, too. Looks like the general dynamics of District Nine are utterly failing.

"Hey, wanna at least get to know each other's life back in Nine?"

I throw my hands up. "Why not?"

He looks so hopeful. "Did you have many friends back in District Nine?"

Nibbling on my lip gently, staring blatantly at Zane and his huge, hopeful eyes, I nod slowly. "One. Her name's Cali. You?"

He suddenly looks shocked and somewhat hurt. Man, this kid scares easily. "Um, I didn't have… well, I wasn't the most… um, I was not the most popular kid, if you catch my drift." He laughs shakily.

"Well, that's alright," I say, consoling him. But I quickly force the kind feeling back down, my gut aching as I do it for the second time in a short while. "You don't need friends to achieve."

"They sure woulda been nice, though," Zane mutters thoughtfully, resting his chin on the table, crossing and uncrossing his eyes. "I mean, somebody to share your life with… instead of just watching the friendships all around you, you know?"

"I can see what you mean." I nod.

"Everybody was so… friendly to other people. I just don't get why they weren't friendly to me." His eyes are big and mournful as he twists his hands in the loose fabric of his navy blue sweater. "I was nice. I would have been a good friend."

"You have Akio, now, though, don't you?"

"He's sort of a spaz," Zane groans. "I mean, a friend is a friend is a friend, right? He's just… he's clumsy and sort of stupid."

"You have the common sense to see that, though."

"Yeah, I know, but it would be sort of nice to have somebody else to kind of moderate him…" he sighs again and, all of a sudden, his eyes are lit with energy. "Hey… would you want to join-"

"No."

"But why not?" All of a sudden, he goes from a whiney guy to some big baby, looking rather upset and offended. "What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing," I say, "but I just-"

"Here's an easier question, why won't you ally with me and Akio?" Zane's face is stretched, worried. His cheeks flush red. "We're open, we'll be good allies…"

"I'm sure you would be," I begin, "but-"

"_Please_ ally with us." He clenches my hand, jaw tight with nervousness. "I'm begging you, Imogen. You don't have to trust us or anything… just to be there and talk sometimes…"

I sigh – am I really doing this? – and offer up a little nod.

Might as well get the boy off my back.

Before I know it, he's leapt out of his chair and is hugging me, tightly. My heart's beating like a drum and my fists are clenched, arms stiff, spine rigid. I hate hugs. I don't particularly _like_ Zane, either.

But I suppose that, in reality – it is better than being alone. Ups your odds and all that. Back home, Cali was the only person that I trusted, and she was the only one to see me for who I really was. I kept my friends close, enemies closer.

Perhaps I can twist this alliance in my favor, too – I mean, Zane quite literally begged me for it. If he's that desperate, he's most likely going to do just what I ask. Maybe this isn't a bad thing. Maybe I just need to lift the stupid scowl off of my face, quit being a grumpy girl all the time.

Be charitable for once.

I quietly excuse myself, removing myself from the embrace of my newfound ally, and stroll silently to the safety of my bedroom, shutting the door behind me. Peeling off my restricting black jacket and moving to the spacious bathroom, I stare at myself in the mirror.

Pale skin, dark hair, dark eyes. Bruiselike markings lining the undersides of my eyes from lack of sleep. Skinny arms with bony elbows. Prominent collarbones. A pert nose.

I look nothing like what a typical volunteer should look like – like Deverra, with her fierce eyes and luscious hair and curvaceous form. Or Spiridon, with his big hands and muscular body.

Let's face it, I look weak.

But I know that I'm not weak. I've survived a lot more than most of these people, I can bet. My experiences have shaped me, made me thick-skinned and ready to fight with a clenched jaw and fists ready to strike out. I'm smart, too, smarter than many.

The only thing that worries me is my mind, though – I think _too_ much.

But, hey… Everybody's got their own personal story, right?

What's another one, then – mine?

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Savages by Marina and the Diamonds.**

**Yeaaaaah, sorry for the delay. I really am. Writing a finale and an epilogue to my other stories (Contrary and A Shot in the Dark, aay!) kind of tied me up, plus just life in general. But hey, I'm here now. And the POV word count will go down, too – from 1,000 words each to 500. So updates should come relatively quicker.**

**Everybody gets two more Capitol POV's – a regular POV and an interview POV. So, yeah, look forward to those!**

**I'd also really appreciate if you voted on the favorite tribute poll, too – the more votes, the better! It can be found on my profile.**

**Confirmed Alliances: Lynch+Leander+Lynden+Deverra+Imani, Cheyenne+Loren+Salton, Zane+Akio+Imogen, Peridot+Sabryn, Rhett+Ferric, Eira+Briana+Spiridon, Amalie+Merchandise+Lolita+Adriana, Conner, Jaiden.**

**Question time! :)**

**Thoughts on each POV?**

**Chart?**

**Who would you personally have allied with, given the chance?**

**Who would you most definitely not have?**


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